from November Angels by Jane Hirshfield

Posted on Nov 22, 2011 by Diane Morrow

A single, cold blossom

tumbles, fledged

from the sky’s white branch.

And the angels

look on,

observing what falls:

all of it falls . . .

Angels as observers.

The afternoon

lengthens, steepens,

flares out—

no matter for them.

It is assenting

that makes them angels,

neither increased

nor decreased

by the clamorous heart:

their only work

to shine back,

however the passing brightness

hurts their eyes.

Angels watching. Saying yes. Shining back.

It is assenting

that makes them angels

The full text of November Angels used to be available at the Poetry Foundation, but, alas, is no longer.

The photo is of a print, Blossoms Falling, by Masha Schweitzer at the Los Angeles Printmaking site.