Poem from August 4th, 2008.

"Convocation of Orphans"

Fox in double-Virgo,
Employed to paint the vein of love below the arc of Heaven,
And split bones for baby,
resist bruising the runt of the brood, this time . . .

Good God, you can organize!
Prudence, temperance,
fortitude and justice!
But why was Winged Victory sent to the guillotine?

Was her report on passion too dry and foreboding,
too stilted, too mindful
of folklore, fable, and the history of art?
Was it the meandering wrinkle in her robe?

Some time ago, I think, modern manifesto replaced the cold compress,
And angels learned to sleep to sounds of static
Unawake and dreaming in localized color,
only imagining the act of weighing the human heart

It would require a convocation of orphans,
the wet aftermath of homicide, or God's offering of time travel
to lay covered in flies and cry, "Sighs, the world over!"

What a task,
to explain why we were suckling an animal's toes
and not her teat