When we were young <br />we amused ourselves <br />by asking how <br />many angels could dance <br />on the point of a pin? <br /> <br />“What was the point? ” <br />someone had asked. <br />“And if we knew, then what would we do <br />...with such useless information? ” <br />Or... <br />“If God can do everything...anything <br />can God make a stone <br />he can’t lift? ” <br /> <br />The answer catches us either way. <br />Now, today <br />I hold a pebble <br />that has escaped yesterday. <br />It glints in the present <br />catches today’s sunshine. <br /> <br />“That’s Mica...schists! ” <br />you laughed <br />“Sorry...old schoolgirl joke! ” <br />It rests <br />on my open palm <br />an escapee from some holiday nobody had planned <br />that we had on the spur of the moment just gone on <br />to get away from our known world <br />be nearer the selves we had forgot. <br /> <br />In my mind <br />you are an angel <br />dancing on a pin <br />caught in a spotlight <br />a glitter ball staining you with light <br />as you spin
