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.