August Visitor by Flourish Joshua

there’s a knock at the door of a doorless room,

but fingers do not cast the bangs—

a tumor of grief swells in the belly

of my angel’s hosanna & the bangs

bends her into a creased question mark

in a moon-lit dark room. hey, God, I see

what you do for other angels—

once [not too long ago],

i talked to trees & they talked

back to me. smell my rainbow songs, act accordingly.