Annunciation, Part III

Saint Leonard of Noblac, d. 559,
With your codex skin
And shark-meat ass, you are here
Floating in the cold air like blood, you are
Trapped in the nib of my pen,
In the most elaborate teapot
In the Italian grocery store,
In the softest chicken breast in the fridge, and I
Will pluck out the eyelashes of every camel on Earth
And bestow them unto you
If that’s what it takes,
Just as I did in all our past lives
When you were my brother. You are my
Father. You are my sister. You are my mom
And you are the angel that told me you’d be
My child. I cannot sing
But to make you,
Angel. I want a grilled cheese, an agent, I want you,
Angel, and a postcard. And I want to look over your shoulder as you write it
And I want to pick it up and tear it in half. And I want to be the pieces
And I want to lie shirtless in the grass
And I want you to come downstairs and find me here.