that once flew free

in response to my dancing body,

now guide resistent wire

into forms that resemble

dancing angels.

With wire in hand

my mind flows free

veers off from the struggle

to give birth to freedom.

Hands pull – they sometimes yank -

the wire from the spool,

bend, balance and stretch

to shape the dancing figure,

and give wings

to the little dancer who longs to fly.

The hands -

oh, dear brave hands -

are wired to discover

angelic purpose in the lowly life

of human endeavor.

Completed at last:

suspended by a barely visible strand,

the dancing angel floats

and the hands let go

while the mind peeks through

astonished eyes to see

yet another angel.

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