angel's musings I

it makes no difference to me
the way you see us.
Human vision
is like seeing through
a dirty mason jar,
underwater,
with only one eye open,
anyway.

I don't care
if you paint us in
uncomfortable flowing robes
like bedsheets,
or as pale, overfed babies
with chicken wings.
And those laughable
perfect-circle halos
around our heads,
like dinner plates!
Those are my favorite.

You have never seen us,
so how could you know
the truth?

That's the mystery of human vision,
it seems to me.
How do you even know we exist?
Your perception is blurred,
distorted by faults and doubts
and mortality.
But still, you see us—
a glimpse out of the corner of your eye,
something light hovering in the shadows,
at the edge of sight.  
And it is enough for you.