Lilium Poem by Ouch G. Hetrick

Flashes.
The flashes brighten to tingling shapes.
They tremble. They tremble,
and so softly fill the wedges on my palms.

Thirteen open eyes
connected to small, fragile bodies.
They cerise wings,
hesitant.

Obsessive and floating.
Departure and float.
Change and speak.

Whispers and laughter.
Their response is to cry out.
Wince. Wince.
Whisper and laughter.
The small cracks on my palm
shake like an earthquake.

This is the great question.
It is nearly perfect and will
residence nothing.
Quiet! It's tingling.
They tremble. They tremble,
and so softly fill the wedges on my palms.

Thirteen. A number.
So very chilling.
It trembles between my two warm hands.
How many angels fill my sorrow on the right
and my joy on the left?

Thirteen is a number trembling
in the sky. One particular, named Hahul,
is the eminence above.
Feathers follow this angel's every word.

Maybe he could answer the question.
But he says you will never know.