He Counted Past Life
Devoured colorful bills
Day in, day out
Wounded

Never present
All-consuming
Ruler
Far away

He drifted on floes
Enchanted
One-eighty
A pulse of mosquito skin

Something tore itself apart
In years built on lies
On glossy little pictures
Silence in the midst of screams

Something disappeared
He who counts turned to dust
Where trains ran without aim
Gone

Angels stepped into his place
To be seen and felt
As mortals
Counting

They counted past life
Hid colorful bills
Day in, day out in the angel’s belly
Dazed