Samantha Hunt

He sleeps..

in
triangles
arms equilateral
legs slightly obtuse
a perfect copy of a boy but
with angles. My mixed up angel.

I
saw his
face in stained glass
windows, followed him through frescoes
in Assisi. Wept at his embodiment in stone.
Heard him count down the desolate hours before birth.

I try
to decode the
message that whistles
through the gap in his teeth, as his
limbs lengthen, his brain grows bigger than
a planet. I am the watch woman as he journeys through
this night, pulling strings to the unwired corners of his mind.