Just as I threw my arms up in despair,
it was as if two angels
swooped in beneath them
and held them in place,
kept my arms raised high
so that anyone walking by
might have thought I was praising
the day, praising the air,
praising the clean blue sky,
kept my arms raised until I, too,
was fooled into thinking
I am here to honor
the immeasurable blue,
here to open, to feel the heart
beat wild inside the chest.
Long ago the angels left,
still I am here, hands raised.
*
*
ha! Friends, I just noticed that an anagram for despair is praised.