Calling All Angels
Leaves fall like secret prayers—
calling all angels
September’s having her best
orgasm in a century. Everything lingers
in climax, the character of the light, earthy
fragrances, a whole heaving calendar week
with an arched spine.
Here’s how I know the world
is ill and absurd: a dead fawn stares up
from the roadside, spots unsullied, perfect
and gone. Most days I choose to forget, but
entire families explode in Palestine. Cascades
of leaves now. Calling all angels yes god yes
Image: Vico Rock, Dalkey, County Dublin, Ireland.