Humanity mothered and fathered the angels. Those angels hailed, not from a place outside, but a place within the divinity that is life in the stars.
That body, of ribs seen beneath pale skin and breasts, I imagine it suspended in space, or adrift in the featureless blue ocean, far below surface and far above sea floor. Or, with the feet throwing alms to the land by standing upon it.
That face of youth, not of childhood or adulthood, but a face without inclination toward anything but sensuous life. Somewhere, as it was said, between virginity, maternity, and divinity.
Not a princess, but more. Not an angel, but more. A human.
And I feel my own bones.