Notice the angel of the shadows,
their wings half-spread, their gaze,
always down-ward toward the earth
sometimes without a carved pupil
to create near and far,
heaven and earth,
past and future--
Maybe that’s how they walk between,
their stillness asking us
to shatter stone
with our imaginations
acknowledge the light in the darkness.
I pull up, and pull in,
at the itch between
my own shoulder-blades.