It is not what they intend,
But we are light-struck,
Blinded by their presence,
When all they want is to see us.
We have to turn away,
Cannot look at the huge, deep Unknown
That speaks through their eyes.
They strip us down to the infant gaze
Still deep in the sky,
Still rooted somewhere we cannot remember.
Angel, look away.
I cannot afford to yield the last defense,
To go back—
“Not back, but deeper,”
Said the angel, folding his wings