Anarchic anger came to beat us down,
Until from all that battering we went numb
Like ravaged trees after a hurricane.
But in its wake we saw fierce angels come–
Not gentle and not kind– who threshed the grain
With their harsh wings, winnowed from waste.
They brought love to its knees in fearful pain.
Such angels come after the storm is past
As messengers of a true power denied.
They beat us down. For love, they thrash us free,
Down to the truth itself, stripped of our pride.
On those harsh wings they bring us agony.
Theirs is an act of grace, and it is given
To those in Hell who can imagine Heaven.