Autopsy of an Angel

First, you must find
the spine, splay it wide,
examine the vertebrae.

Here is where the teeth
of sunlight rip open
the sinewy shadows, flesh

becomes divine.

Secondly, wrapped around
the bones like barbed wire,
an ivy made of fear. How tall

it grows, what bitter blooms
it harbours; we had hoped for
pity, rather than consequences.

And it dreamt in burning white,
wings unfastened from their joints,
quickly up a mountain, flight

with no return.

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