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It works this way, the awkward ones, their
great angel wings    sweeping, move grace; like
sand in the air it sticks to your teeth, lodges
on your lips, you find it crusted in hollows
coating your skin    glaze of thin white icing
on a cake, so sweet; they know not what they do
these angels, bumping into one another
trying to be graceful, like the ones who bring messages
trumpet the Lord