His body is fifteen
His soul is ageless
His hunger, timeless

He is my dark, frail angel of the mountain
Greeting me there,
always there
Each time remembering my name
Waiting to touch my life for just an instant

Yet he remains beyond

He's become a part of me-
an aching, beautiful bruise on my heart
Tying me to his humanity
A reminder of my own

I feed him, for the moment
Give him a dollar, maybe two
But I cannot give him the gift of future
and he does not understand

He sits in rags-
the question echoes in his eyes,
"Why won't you take me with you?"
And, I cry because I cannot answer that.

I lie here, warm, comfortable-
I wonder how he is...

The tears fall anew as I hope,
as I trust
that mountain angels have a special place
with God.

March 25 2001