The Private Meditations of John Wyclif: On Angels

By now no one cares how many would fit on the head of a pin.
They can always make themselves smaller, or the pin bigger,
and being infinite they have all infinity to play scholastic
games. Meanwhile, they watch us in our lecture hall
and see that our only way to fit another scholar in
is by one of us dying. To this the angels have
only pity. They turn the pin on its head,
and then as many angels as the last
scholar has conjectured climb
up the side. They reach
the tip and dance in
bare feet to bleed
for us. This,
we see,
was al-
ways
the
po-
in
t.