You are as quiet as the grave.
The head turned, your eyes
averted, as though gazing
at infinitudes of inwardness.
Waiting. Silent as the stone,
you might seem astonished
by the infidelities of time.
The other angels are all gone.
Departure is the deepest loss.
You remain, your wings
stretched for flight, bereft
of leaving, poised on stillness.
And you look into that space,
centre that is everywhere
within, where God appears
so suddenly alive and always