Automaton Angels
       

Any idea can be made
material,

like the angel wrought
in human form

and mechanized
to carry a chariot,

crown a prince,
blow the horn.

Descend.
Ascend.

Rotate, fly, speak
to Christ.

What does a god
do with a machine

and its prayers?
Its inorganic form?

Open the door.
Ascend, descend.

Blow out altar candles,
and bow before the virgin.

Point a finger to the sun, say
Every Angel is terrifying.

The ones who make,
the ones who are made.

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Copyright © 2020 Rebecca Morgan Frank All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission