We wake up another morning to the news that a bridge close by has collapsed into the hollow. The angel is naked, spraying silver all over his body, after which, I will not be allowed to touch him. Driving south alone, past Lost Creek and a town with a woman’s name, I catch a flock in flight over the trailer park opening by instinct, like a hand will, to catch what is falling. Devotion is merciless. The news reports that there have been no “life-threatening injuries.” Later reports: someone’s spine has been broken. I figured out what your problem is, the angel had told me, the night before, you’re in love with someone who doesn’t exist.
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