the Archangel 
with the power to heal, 
 
hovers over the roof 
of my house.
 
He’s been up there 
since you left.
 
I went to a Catholic school. 
I tell myself
 
my guardian angel 
was happy to be reassigned. 
 
Raphael keeps my house 
safe inside, 
 
me & the dog tame, 
neither of us going feral.
 
My dog lies 
like a pile of clothes 
 
on the rug in front 
of the hearth 
 
where you & I cast 
our shadows & glistened; 
 
where later, alone, 
I felt laid bare to the heavens, 
 
roofless,
looking into the void, 
 
but much less so now, 
Raphael perched
 
on the chimney, 
the sparks like stars.
                        

Today is more than just one cup of black coffee after another.
Today, I have enough melancholy stacked on top of more melancholy 
to climb up a sad stairway, out of my down-in-the-dumps, here - into 
what could be the snow covered mountain peaks of the Hindu Kush.
 
I should be wearing warm hiking boots & a wool coat.
Instead, I am barefoot & dressed in my white cotton bathrobe.
From a distance, I might appear to be a pilgrim returning 
from the Hajj, still dizzy with elation from circumambulating 
the Kaaba & kissing the black sacred stone.  
 
I am not a Muslim. I am not religious. I know it is childish of me
but prayer rugs make me think of flying carpets.
My coffee needs to be reheated. It cooled quickly in that thin air.
 
I stare at the parking lot outside my kitchen window, 
waiting to hear the cathedral bells of the microwave, 
when I realize I haven’t polished my car in years.
 
Muslims believe the remembrance of God polishes the human heart 
to reflect divine light lest their hearts remain tarnished by selfishness.
I trust the sacred spit & elbow grease of prayer can make the heart shine, 
a captive belief lit by the lamp light of my catechism classes.
 
Scheherazade could not recall any of the tales she told that saved her life. 
1,001 upshots to as many cups, or more, of Arabian coffee? 
I remember her fabled Sindbad story, his tying meat to his back
so the Rocs unknowingly lift him out of the valley of diamonds.
 
I buff the outside of my coffee cup with the sleeve of my robe
& there comes a flurry of wings. I am overlooking the Khyber Pass.