The Gold Was Made of Angel

The evening angle swings around,
Beginning its consolation.

That light itself is forgiveness,
Or what forgiveness ought to be,

The weightless touch that lifts you up
The gold that’s free of all metal—

How unalloyed is that? The word,
Or the word in any language,

For gold, for golden, can’t have been
Begun as name for a metal.

Humans knew light long before gold.
The metal was the reminder,

While the forgiveness in itself,
The glow before silvered twilight,

Was the core originator,
The effortlessness of late day

That later made you claw the dirt
Craving more forgiveness from Earth.