we fly through crowds of angels
wings pitted with pellets
as they flap furiously
forming a wake of whiteness
under the impression that good lasts forever
-------pudgy arms and legs never get older
-------pure laughter is always heard
-------hands always clap spontaneously
-------bright objects are always crawled towards
-------legs are forever jumping
but soon the crowds disappear
we are back on the ground
trudging through wet streets
thinking back on white-winged wonder
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