The Angel of History

“His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are
spread.”
—Walter Benjamin

blown backwards
into the future

he beholds only
the past
dragging after him

what a catastrophe
the furious wind
hurls at feet

helpless before it

his wings are spread—
fanned flat
with the sharp snap
of terrified sails

how will he fold them
feather on feather
before the torrent
of shock waves from paradise?

him
on his wretched wings
helpless to help
anyone
or anything

what he shouts
is spittle
torn from his mouth

himself, ever only
a single breath ahead
of where he has been

where even now

the surge of broken bodies
is breaking over him
filling his eyes, his mouth, his ears
with creaturely whispers

crushing with love the wings
that have caught him up
in so much misery