Maybe We’re Wrong
by
Radiance Angelina Petro

Seen in the light of angels, we are all
children touching time, quibbling, like
birds on a wire, quibbling, like
birds flying loose in the world.

Sure, we build bridges, and fine,
oak tables. We tell decent stories.
We also explode our differences
loose into the world, killing without thought.

Angels wonder why on earth we’re here.
Ultimately, we mean little to the galaxy’s dance.
They whisper in their feathery circles
consulting the Destroying Angel.

But when the unaccustomed burst
of sonority comes from the young
violin player, those very same angels think:
“Maybe we’re wrong.”