Like The Bones Of Angels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Down in their beds again brown angels across
The street in the house with her brown mother and father
And her brown children,
Like sticks in a silver river the helicopters make eyes
After, and the owls know, for they resemble their
Sanctuary, floating in their magnetisms trances:
And she enfolds into him, and says things to his
Ear while he is not listening,
But she enjoys the silence of his soul as she spreads over
Him like gasoline, as she spreads over the house
In the strange flagella of wicks ignited for the
Virgin of Guadalupe. Outside the cats are burning
In the ignited trees,
But the world is very silent as she dances in her sleep.
The moon is tattooed between his shoulder blades
Which are like the bones of angels,
But it has already stolen all that it knows can be his.