All the angels are here this morning, in the striped light
and shade. Some --- ruby-eyed, patterned black and tan and white---
are kicking leaves behind them, finding their food,
There are white-throated angels, scarlet-headed angels,
angels of shrill blue,  Some bronzed angels are spangling wings
and dabbling iridescent heads in the rain pan.

On cleats down the trunk of a pine descends the downy angel.  Her tiny 
drill dithers faster than a snare drum.  Black-capped or tufted,
round-eyed cherubs flick to ground, scrambling for thrown seed.
The bent-tailed, the brindled, the small red-breasted
next arrive, jab needle-beaks into the suet.  Until a cocky
coal-winged angel with red patches elbows them off.

Neat-fronted in clerical gray, cat angels have quietly landed.
They raise their spread tails, flashing rusty coverts.
Rushing on high legs from under the thornbush, an arrogant brown
angel shrieks that he can thrash them all.

Now alights the crimson Pope of angels, masked, with thick
pink nose.  He's trailed by two pale female acolytes,
ticking and ruffling crested crowns.  Cracking two seeds,
the splendid seraph hops, as if on a pogo stick, to each in turn,
to put between accepting beaks the sacrament---they stand agape
for this---an act that's like a kiss.

Yellow-throated angels loop to a wag of honeysuckle, waiting
for a gang of raucous purple angels to finish bathing and fly.
Still kicking leaves under the laurel, shy black-headed, red-eyed,
rufous-sided angels, in light and shadow, stay half-hidden.


 =Tansy Mattingly