The Angels’ Bath

This poem captures the fleeting beauty and power of angels at dawn, their wings scattering light like prisms across the landscape. Blending vivid imagery with a sense of wonder, it reflects on the fleeting moments of divine presence and the timeless care they provide to the world.

The Angels’ Bath

In the light of the rising, flooding,

There they are, the Angels, spreading their wings,

Roaring, streaming, facing the mighty star,

Maybe you see them, innocent or frail?

I see their auras shine with a thousand flames,

Flying, taunting the bawling deer in the distance,

Their wings, flapping, a cloud of drops,

Prism squirting, their silhouettes cut out.

A white Chloe would like to touch them,

Or even, with its claws to grip them,

Dreaming of food tastier than cockroach,

But, supernatural, in turn locusts,

Doves, slipping within a becquerel,

There they are the Angels, spreading their wings,

Green, their adornments, blue and yellow irises,

Sparkling sparks, Amazons.

Quick, the bath is coming to an end, hurrying,

Because the clock turns, now is the time!

The hard and noble work, their labor,

For the lost souls, well needing them.

Here and there, in an eclipse of time,

There they are the Angels, spreading their wings,

For you and me, for all of us, for him and her,

Forever, never static for more than a moment.

By Thomas Célérier