Heavenly Hosts, Angels Most High,
You who, we suppose,
still tinker in the ways of the world
despite the non-interventionist God you serve;
Heavenly Hosts, you of assorted faces and wings
and no form at all,
flying like whirligigs, maple seeds of childhood.

We turn to you on this new moon
of Tammuz –
Tammuz, who in the olden days
was also a god, lover of Ishtar,
who died in summer
and was mourned
and reborn.
A god transformed into an allalu bird,
baby blue and honey feathered
with a broken wing.

We are also broken-winged now.
Flightless, eyes upward, watching for hawks,
considering our options –
tall grass, sharp brush.

And we pray
to you, or through you, Heavenly Hosts
for us, for this absurd world
and the sorry state we are in.
Humanity, punching and clawing in every direction,
afraid of predators
afraid of prey.
afraid of the shadow we cast on the dusty earth.

In this time of Tammuz,
this season of hot death and miraculous rebirth,
teach us to spread our wings again,
unafraid and beautiful
like you, Heavenly Hosts,
riding the thermals,
equal parts
indifference, worry, and hope.