Letter to an Old Poet.
Sir, I trust you are feeling better, now that mundane gravity has
been--for you and those you entertain--eclipsed by more compelling
gravitas. Does it register as similarly burdensome? I wonder also what
you make these days of angelic life on the whole, and in particular, of
your nearness to those bodiless beings you were wont to approach duly
with both love and fear. And of Himself? Now that the abysmal, angelic
enormity has been revealed to have been all along hardly more than a
murmur of His own and endless, deep bass note, I wonder how you manage.
I too have felt the occasional tremor of those wings, and worry how,
when all is made more manifest, I may suffer their proximity, and the
press of the One whose messages they bear.