Angel in my Heart

(For Nasudi Francine who keeps on asking where am I)

This angel in my heart
is a plural of faith.

Even in distances
she comes in whispers,
comes with the westerly
winds,
wild and wily
as the fierce weather
in this southern summer.

It is hot over here,
like the message
the angel brings
in a language
twisted
crooked
to a father's ears
not tuned in
to wounds and bandages
and the need to kiss
a daughter's seared skin
to allow healing
of mind and memory
both wounded
by hellos and goodbyes
on the computer screen
where touching her
is one long sad
wistful thinking,
some kind of a dream
on installments,
some six months at a time
some more than a year
at a time
like the dream
of an eternal
exile for home.

The angel
is a plural of hope
for a reunion
of stories
songs
sweet child's secrets,
she with her webcam
letters
in consonants,
me in my responses
in vowels,
the consonants
and vowels
forming the salving lexicon
of joy despite the grief
from going away
and always returning
in the spaces
of quick sentences
we imagine we write
in miles and miles
on end endlessly.

A. S. Agcaoili
Aug 7/05
Inquirer Editorial
1230 Noon
Carson, CA