Megan Palmer - Poetic Moment

my angels of the street are bleeding.
broken flight, they limp toward me,
trails of blood-red dust at their feet.
looking into my eyes, they mistake me for one of their own.
"help me", "heal me", "mend my wings".
but my strength is not in repair, nor do I have
the means of their escape.
my roots are in the ground,
deepening, darkening
and I will look at my angels' demons.
for the help must lie in the holding, the weathering...
when they forsake wings for roots of their own.