Angels

They have little use. They are best as objects of torment.
         No government cares what you do with them.

         Like birds, and yet so human . . .
         They mate by briefly looking at the other.
         Their eggs are like white jellybeans.

         Sometimes they have been said to inspire a man to do more with his life than he might have.
         But what is there for a man to do with his life?

         . . . They burn beautifully with a blue flame.

         When they cry out it is like the screech of a tiny hinge; the cry of a bat. No one hears it . . .