"On Interleaves (a Meager Mumbleful) and the Evolution of Angels," a poem by R.L. Swihart

1.
Cody is only four, so has no notion of "aura," but before he tapes the stray
digital copy of Klee's Angelus Novus to his easel he asks his mother
two questions:

“Why do his wings look like hands?”

“Aren't there dentists in heaven?”

2.
Cody wants something more original, so he gets into his smock, angles
his Dodgers cap backwards on his tousled head, then flails his paint-
filled hands all over the masterpiece to impasto a rich blue covering
(of course there are some spots where you can still catch glimpses
of the Angelus)

He washes his hands and attacks the target some more, this time
wielding yellow (only in his right hand, leaving his left hand
free). He repeats a similar process with black and white,
then steps back to admire his handiwork

3.
"What do you think?" Cody asks his mother

"Amazing," she says. "It's your angel, right?"

"Of course. I just added some clouds and a big yellow
ring above his head"