In halls of alabaster, gold, and light, Where seraphs wing in endless, blinding flight, I caught a shimmer through the heavenly air, A radiant form with halo-gilded hair.
I bowed my head and offered up my praise, A mortal lost within a sacred haze, Assuming grace had taken shape and form To shield my spirit from the coming storm.
Then turned the vision, chuckling soft and sweet, And kicked a straying pebble with his feet. No holy trumpets sounded from the sky; No ancient wisdom rested in his eye.
Just another wanderer, lost inside the glare, Who put on feathers just to fit in there. We shared a grin beneath the towering dome— Two flawed souls pretending we were home.