On the intervention of angelic beings for good or evil in the mundane world

You are semi-aquatic
The silent metronome 
Cathected, a pristine serum
In jungle loops
As if you had begun to shed your skin
The translucent arteries displayed 
In their machinic glory
Imagining the melodic sound
Slowly drowning
The way Icarus did
The doctor finding
Lodged in your side
With cupped fingers, genuflected
Between crook├Ęd hip and folded rib
Burned from the stitch of breathless running
A kind of knot
Quietly, in amelioration green
Saying, thank the angels and abominations
If the child had not been sick
Treasured, coddled, machined, subjected
Devoured, destroyed, made made
Drowned in the sea inside the sea
He would have died