Entranced in the entrance of a fin-de-siecle railway station
I watched a rare creature, a sylph-legged vision
Anonymously called desire. Now it would be trite
To talk of angels but a small bit of heaven
Flew past me like some tiny meteorite,
The fringe on her green dress catching the spring sunlight
Like diamonds. My dazzled look was rewarded by
A fiery flashing smile, befitting an angel. She didn't wait,
However, streaming past in childish impatience to fly
Everywhere at once, but still seeming very aware why
And how she had caught me on her sticky strings.
Silently, I begged this delicate spider to consume her prey.

So how do you catch a passing angel? Are there things,
Devices, lures, snares which can tangle their wings
Without hurting them, slowing them down enough
That they can be engaged more than just in passing?
I know it's possible to catch them on a photograph;
I've done that. I also know angels can talk, smile, laugh
And love, but you can't just go out and catch one
Like a butterfly and later pass the shimmering proof
Around the dinner table with your friends. It's not done
Like that. Angels will catch you. They know when
You are not looking and will pounce on you
Covering you with enchanted gossamer which they spin
From their eyes and smiles. I know this is true
Because that's how you caught me, and as the web grew
Around me I didn't want to run away
or break the threads, even if I'd wanted to.

Magic spells are difficult to break anyway
And angels are chock-full of magic which they
Use at every opportunity. Alexa, you know this very well.