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The First Angel Fat slippery angels, two by two, carrying sheaves of straw to the graveyard, leaning sheaves of straw on the gravestones, straw on the frost stones. God’s hands trembled when he touched my head, we are so much in love: the new moon holding the old moon in her arms. The first angel said, Write down this: It is time to leave your past life, leave your plumb-line, your trowel, your layers of habitation, your perfect finds-tray. At the Door Seeing my daughter in the circle of lamplight, I outside: It is not I, it is Mother. (But it is I.) It is the first tableau, the first red wellspring of I. Chimpanzee of longing, outside the light, 212 door in the mountain ...

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