Angel witnesses a butcher
Use scrub brushes to scrape the floor’s
Black squares off with foaming chemicals,
So only white remains.
For Angel, it’s a constant kiss,
Even when an apron gets bloodied.
The sheen on the floor has clouds
Because her head’s space isn’t contained
By language, just as the mopping
Is done by Moonlight.
For Angel, it’s a constant kiss
Through prison cell bars.
The blue steel only makes her more ghostly.
The recipient of her kiss is where the Moon
Touches the ocean’s tides. It’s butcher, held
To Earth in a constant kiss
Between inhale’s death and the creation
Of spring’s living exhale. Loving all
Who are imprisoned, Angel mirrors
The budding with the raging fire
Of leaves’ fall colors: on the ground,
Midair, or stem still on the branch.
Each star seed is a smiling blue sky
In the eye of a name she’s transformed,
In her Kiss of Life, from death to joy.
Superman’s cape wraps around
His own skeleton, the sheet of an x-rayed deathbed.
A doctor throws a scalpel on the floor
Because he couldn’t save the heart
From the open space where death and life
Are the same kiss.
The sheet stretched tightly covers
The bed with no one on it. The bones now
Shadows on a computer screen
In a corner of the room; the walls
Are wings. And crouched in the darkness
Behind the door, dawn is there, ready
To surprise death with a birthday kiss.
