physician to rebutton pajamas and

          retuck cleanly

          the rucked sheet

     behind his violence.  Beauty

     melts from the long face's

bones yearly, the face we cannot

hope to see old.  He moves

          cool and burning

          through rooms of falling

     children who settle towards

     their bones, towards their earth;

chose them, stays alive

all through, quick through all

          their dying;

          settles for not

     less than the incandescent

     life at breath's margin,

eyes wide open to the blinding.

Close-up (joking)

Man river of blood poured

out I impelled to stanch

you look from your

face running running

to the watchers faces

that see a man funning

oh they are still

frightful with laughter

poured back (I am looking

at laughter paid into veins)

and you slowly fill

you fill slowly

Vanishing into his role

He stands like a horse or a dog

that wants touch but has no

     hands.  He speaks

of looking for another life.

Another little brother has fallen,

gallant as they are -- all --

     as he makes them

by his insistent demonstration.

He is the officer in the black

and white film, leading

     juniors to death,

but beautifully, and careful not

to appear to notice his own

example, just laughing like any

     immortal.  Where is

the machinery to get him offstage?

It would include a way

to make him small as life.

     Meantime voices

from off are a risky distraction. 

                                           Continue   In Love With the Angel

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