and in the third heaven

And in the third heaven,
In that strange firmament
That seems very much like daily routine,
An angel appeared to me
With a prophetic message of love;
This was no message
Of common comprehension,
But a communication of movement,
A dance through that estranged
Crimson cloud lined world
That spoke through the rain streaked grey
(like mascara tear streaks
Down the face of god)
Lightly and beautifully tapping
On puddles, creating these
Symphony like indulgences
Yielding not just to desire,
But to the very exactness
Of love itself – in true form -
Being almost pulpous in matter
For its allowance of streaking splendor
Down every form of path,
Down every line of eternity.
This angel, she, cloaked finely
By the ages of pendulous light
Sang easily with every step,
Not a lyrical form,
But a more ethereal transcendence
Moving beyond common philosophy
With a silence of tremendous volume
Echoing such thought, such consideration
Of a true intellect with no definition;
No words bring to mind the absolute
Contentment in viewing such an angel,
Guiding me by no description,
But with a wraithlike vision
Of perpetuity that I could only cry to.