Our Angels

Some people say
There is in everyone an Angel embryo,
That knows not what it may become.

The body’s double coil,
Our time, our life, our fate
Is but a chrysalis, in which the Angel-pupa grows.

And then in Angel-birth, we die.

But ghostly traces of the larval stage remain;
The faces of newborn angels
also bear
A faint reflection of their origin.

But hear my warning:
Between metaphor or myth,
and simple truth,
I cannot make distinctions,
or none, at least,
That also make a difference.