The clouds open and for a moment,
Form a circle in the sky. One could
See angels moving within this circle.
Tall and pale, they are towers,
Leaning into each other and moving
Their giant wings slowly, as in breathing.
I dropped the car into a lower gear,
Swerving to avoid the back of a semi
As it exploded the road, caught up in a
Frenzy of delivery. The sky was all a gold,
A blue hole revealing a churning from
Heaven to Earth. Highway 80 West,
Aflame with the eccentricities of the early
Evening. An endless stream of vehicles
Up and down the interstate, a Jacob’s
Ladder where we are all angels.
The spinning of the clouds moves,
Recedes as clouds change shape
Again. I see Sacramento in the
Distance, stringing its night lights,
Claiming the horizon. There, on
The edge of the night, it becomes
A remarkable presence. I begin to
Think that perhaps the angels dwell
There, a place of sacrament. A blue
Camero without lights on, nearly clips
My pickup as it slides across three lanes.
Its license plate reads HLY GHST.
PATCHEN AT THE BAR
There they were.
There must have been
A couple of hundred of them.
Clear balloons floating
Across the road.
Each with a lizard inside of it.
They were the breeze
For ten minutes, then
Drifted out of sight.
Talking to Jody
At the bar, he said,
“They’re going to make
A series out of that,
You know. You never
Know what you’ll see.
Three persons walked
Into the bar and sat down.
One of them was Kenneth Patchen.
“How’s everything today?”, he said.
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