pagan angel

love was a promise made of smoke

in a frozen copse of trees

a bone cold and older than our bodies

slowly floating in the sea

every morning there were planes

the shiny blades of pagan angels in our father's skies

every evening i would watch her hold the pillow

tight against her hollows, her unholy child

i was still a beggar shaking out my stolen coat

among the angry cemetery leaves

when they caught the king beneath the borrowed car

righteous, drunk, and fumbling for the royal keys

love was a father's flag and sung like a shank

in a cake on our leather boots

a beautiful feather floating down

to where the birds had shit on empty chapel pews

every morning we found one more machine

to mock our ever waning patience at the well

every evening she'd descend the mountain stealing socks

and singing something good where all the horses fell

like a snake within the wilted garden wall

i'd hint to her every possibility

while with his gun the pagan angel rose to say

"my love is one made to break every bended knee"

all words iron and wine