Angels

I'm worried I'll look silly
crying before angels,
that kind of expression
where the heart
squeezes the love out of bitterness,
glory through the crust
about this unclaimed flesh,
ruptures bright red blood
onto the mantle of time.

But I no longer care how I look
when I am around angels, 
one of the gifts of aging
that takes me back to childhood,
where the sun flickered from above
as if through wings and I looked around
and no one was there at all
to speak one word of certainty.