The Physics of Angels by Trish Crapo
I suspect the world remembers everything—-
time and bones and words flung together
and me in it, suspecting. If we can believe
in photons—-entities that possess movement
but not mass, and if the spirit, too
is made of light—-then who am I to say
I haven’t lived before—-or you,
and thus this tenderness?
Who am I to doubt that grace
is elemental, like fire—-or that souls
have no need of us, finally
