Of course the angels fall—
perhaps when leaning in closer
to hear our whispers
or when trying to keep up with us
as we dance—
perhaps because they wish
in that moment for bodies such as ours,
bodies so full of hope and passion,
so alive with risk and rush,
that they trip on their hems
and forget for a moment
they have wings, forget for a moment
they’re supposed to be guarding us,
preferring to watch as we fall, too,
all of us ripe, sweet apples.