Angels—by Barbara D. Holender

Jacob’s angels had direction
they went up, they went down
they were disciplined
they walked the ladder

Mine are irrational
Caught on my pear tree there
glittering in the breeze
they toy with the willful sun
the errant leaf

Some say Jacob’s angels
mirrored his irresolute soul

Tell me, you who strung
those mirrors on my tree
did you intend a metaphor
of me?