The stray angel.
He hides his wings under
the darkest of cloaks.
He will not show them
even to his disciples.
He conjures storms, creates
gamma rays from plastic spoons,
magnetic blocks from wood,
and a perpetual motion machine–
a pretty little thing, not even supposed
to exist in four dimensions. He lets us
peer into the heart of that device,
where its cogs intersect the void.
We are building a temple
for the thirteenth stranger.
It will have the tallest church spire
pointing high up in the heavens.