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.