Places I have seen angels in the last three years

Text constructs itself on her monitor.

Endlessly unreeling. If I turn my head and watch, the text becomes arcs of 

Trailing ASCII stars and protective charms.

It is like heavenly commandments, descending from above in honed rhythm.

It is like digital Christ on the cross, except I don’t know religion and I don’t know Jesus,

But I know what it’s like to see an angel. It’s like industrial street light and freeze-burn. 

Fat flakes of snow redacting the sky. Whiteout.

I blink my eyes twice. 

I saw an angel three summers ago when I used to dress like a girl and visit the chapel. They wore black Sketchers that squeaked against ornate floors. They winked once as I knelt by the pew. Black glittering eyeshadow and glistening pomegranate lips. Spindly hands gripping their leather purse strap.

My knees ache just thinking about it.