that once flew free
in response to my dancing body,
now guide resistent wire
into forms that resemble
dancing angels.
With wire in hand
my mind flows free
veers off from the struggle
to give birth to freedom.
Hands pull – they sometimes yank –
the wire from the spool,
bend, balance and stretch
to shape the dancing figure,
and give wings
to the little dancer who longs to fly.
The hands –
oh, dear brave hands –
are wired to discover
angelic purpose in the lowly life
of human endeavor.
Completed at last:
suspended by a barely visible strand,
the dancing angel floats
and the hands let go
while the mind peeks through
astonished eyes to see
yet another angel.