Let it just be said

that I went up to do a one-nighter

with archangel Gabriel.

His embrasure breathes soul

into a Stradivarius trumpet

that he inherited from his father.

His fine bony fingers do the talking,

playing dolce and dolcissimo

to not intrude on the bird-chatter

of fluttering doves under

the canopy of the firmament.

Everything is stilled, when dancers

stop and listen to the liquid gold

of his chromatic glissando.

Later, he hits a double-high C,

but only a dog can hear.

His arrangement of Ciriciribin

is hummed and strummed

by every Venetian gondolier.

His radiant tunes are heard

by unseen ears on faraway stars.

Angels can’t sit still.

They must get up and dance.

Such lush music

reminds us all: We exist.

Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia, N.J. 07605