by Mary Oliver

Where do angels
 fly in the firmament,
and how many can dance
 on the head of a pin?

Well, I don’t care
 about that pin dance,
what I know is that
 they rest, sometimes,
in the tops of the trees

and you can see them,
 or almost see them,
or, anyway, think: what a
 wonderful idea.

I have lost as you and
others have possibly lost a
 beloved one,
and wonder, where are they now?

The trees, anyway, are
 miraculous, full of
angels (ideas); even
 empty they are a
good place to look, to put
 the heart at rest—all those
leaves breathing the air, so

peaceful and diligent, and certainly
 ready to be
the resting place of
 strange, winged creatures
that we, in this world, have loved.