We saw and heard
angels from on high
calling to those still there
working in the fields.

As soon as we saw them,
they all turned crimson —
like yesterday’s dawns,
last-night’s bonfires —

or did they simply reflect
their own uncertain flames
rekindled and re-stoked
for journeying, within.

Later, we found sacred
crystal-seeds scattered
everywhere — mixed with
bits of old lace, lichen —

lavender buds, a few soft
feathers here and there —
angel-mulch left to serve us
–fertile ground for growth.

. . . . .

Susan Powers Bourne
Easter | 16 april 2017