Messengers

They arrive demanding scalloped clouds.
My angels, the winged allegory
of pale feathers, HIV drawing blood.

O red, Father Earth, is this the story
of replacement? I am pricking my thumbs,
smearing distant torsos and steel eyeholes.

Friends alight, reliable as mirrors.
Their power, glory: ten nails driven in.
See? Their bones were given, nursed by stars.