When I attended seminary,

No, really I did,

we learned the word above

meant The Burning Ones,

angels and flaming

spirits sent by God,

emissaries of divine presence

and truth.

There’s this girl,

No, really there is,

who runs by the house

every morning, her

face etched with pain

and determination.

Then within the hour

she walks the other

way, probably to work,

without the pain, but

just as much determination,

smoking a cigarette.

No, really she does.

Either way she burns

and I’m afraid

to speak to her,

No, really I am.