From a luncheonette Sometimes the angel must stop for coffee and staring out a luncheonette's steaming window notice how fire would improve the city, fusing the bricks and greys, the glass and metal, letting the pavement blaze, lifting those crowded souls up to reality.

So let us pray daily that the angel remember why this place was allotted a slower judgment: so low a temperature and such dull light.

MICHAEL GOLDMAN