Thousand: Nine Hundred Twenty-Eight

the hand a small fire flickers. Dipping a finger from the fourth right hand into the flame the angel ignites it, then presses it between the eyebrows. The eyebrows catch flame, and the fingerprint glows like molten glass. Two other hands continue to knit at a purple scarf. Another flips a coin, catches it, flips it again. “What you propose, it has never been done before?” I ought to know the answer. “There have always been teachers,” I equivocate, “some surprisingly wise, considering their limited perspective.” “Limited,” says the angel, tasting the word. “You see all, you know all, you