Claudia Serea

The Moment Before Everything

To get to you,
I traveled light years
through cosmic storms and dust,

only to find you sleeping
on your simple cot.

Stepping back,
I folded,
quietly,
my gray, ragged wings.

I could see why he chose you,
the glow of your pure breath.

Light filled the small room,
tracing on the wall
a child's profile.

Tired and tall,
I stood by the window,
waiting.

I didn't mean to frighten you,
just wanted to keep looking.

I wanted to make this moment last longer—
the rare fork in the road
of which very few humans are aware,
but angels always see.

I wanted to breathe in
your innocent air,

look at your soft,
surrendered hands,
your eyelids beating 
inside a dream,

another second,
another one,

before I told you the news.