In the picture, I am leading you
through the darker rooms of the house
& someone in a blue floral dress flings
her arms wide. She is very angry under
her straw hat.
Angels, like Giotto's,
hang upside down from heaven. They are
swart & surly in white boilersuits &
gumboots. They waver in a low wattage.
And there I am again,
in the doorway
of wrecked train, an orange thread slips
like a garotte, it's flame & all the angels
yelling ‘Jump! ' I hunker down & lift
a listening face.
It is always too late.