I wrote this several years ago for Diane, on her birthday. I reprise it here, since it still strikes a chord with me. We are so lucky to have found each other late in life. We are proof that fate can be generous. Happy Birthday, Angel.
Angel.
In his night dream,
God sent him an angel,
dressed in white,
ready to lift him up
to heaven,
singing a litany of love
and hope.
She would forgive his sins,
like parish priests
on Saturday afternoon.
He would step confidently
into the light,
renewed and ready for a new life.
He wanted his words to her
to ride a litany of praise
to heaven.
He wanted them to scream
his devotion and his love.
He feared that they would travel softly,
unable to reveal
the depth of his emotions
and love.
He knew that the harsh light of day
would remind him
of the little cruelties
that invaded his daydreams.
He hated the reality
of a world
that harmed the innocent,
and rewarded the guilty.
Still, he dreamed
and somehow knew
that when she came,
she would be looking for an angel too. 
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