Holy Numbers (Poetry)

Down the avenue they came
                in silence
                        crystal wings aflame
their mirror-eyes fixed straight ahead
                their rhythms strict
                                expressions dead

Slow they marched one pace apart
                the air around them swirled
                                        like snow
transparent gowns
                        grey-limbed beneath
androgenous — no way to know

their true indentities — no names
a band anonymous as light
                they strode unseeing
                        matched the same
and faded quietly —
                                gone from sight

They left no trace — no sign
                                        no clue
Were those who saw prepared to tell?
A tired old trick — or was it true?
All certainty then lost as well

Some nights the avenue awaits
                                        their coming —
holds the weather’s rein
as though the air anticipates
                                        that vision
                due to come again

The watcher safe behind cool glass
                                        observes
                the nerveless street below
he’ll count those angels
                                as they pass
                for none can follow where they go