Do Angels Grow Old?



Do they feel surprise? The lady at the bar’s end


sips on someone’s sorrow.  There’s rust in her eyes.


Do angels have eyes?  Last night I dreamed you into a


field of poppies. You swelled and sank with each breath,


the air, poppy-tinted and wet, your scent on every pistil.


Will these bones do for jacks? I remember two angels,


one carried me down a cobblestone lane to the port


of Amsterdam. The other was dark but I feared both. 


Do angels have bones? Will these do for jacks?


The lady looks down a brass top counter.



I lift my head and look aside.