Angels without wings

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It was I whom you called Gabriel
the faint sigh of heaven that
whispered the will of your secrets.
I held not your wings of flight,
fearfully pursuing enlightenment
that which was not my own.
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My hands were clasped in prayer
calling out the forbidden name
embedded in my salient emasculation.
I had been waiting for words
to be revealed, my breath for taking
like the warmth of a dying man's.
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The transient clouds parted the skies
and disclosed the constellation of my guilt.
There were stars, bright yet scarce
but only the dark prominence gave way.
They were whispering your name
that evening of your encomium.
I had my voice but it wasn't God's.
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Your limbs willfully ascended
and I sent with them my fears.
It was I whom you called Gabriel.
And that night of my concomitance
I resolved my intractable praying.
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