I was staring out at a blazing sunset, desirous of blindness,
When something likes a spec, a dot in the distance expanded in approach;

Minutes later I could see it was an angel, coming right towards me,
Shrouded in darkness and scalloping clouds, whispering to me:

“Loving me, you mimic me, and brag of me, but never glance
into the mirror, my boredom to see—
Adoring me, you dance to me, and sing to me, so unaware
that all I think is ire towards thee—”

And I stood just still not looking in its eyes, I was at a loss for words;
it began to flounder a glorious floundering, indicating to the world
victory, and then it went its way.

As it floated calmly back, I conceived of my own whispering, and said it aloud:

"let me carve that which I love in a tree,
and then thou will know that I love thee,
carving names of friends and kin,
carving scores of symphonies,
carving scenes of drunken lovers
wobbling down the boardwalk planks,
the world, so perfect the way it is,
spins and revolves every time that you blink"

And as the angel was still leaving, a tear of sweat cracked on its head,
And then as it faded to nothingness a blissful panorama opened up,
wherein I saw and did behold the glorious age, the passing joys,
The vanities, annihilations, the world to come,
And I had only strength to weep:
I saw this must be done—