It seems we've been summoned to this spot, where
the white angel spreads her marble wings,
stone intricate as feathers. We pause here
awhile, in her shadow, listening to things
half-heard, gathering strange knowledge-- you
who love omens and I, haunter of cemeteries.
The silence takes us in. Walking through
death's kingdom, we search out harmonies.
At the angel's feet we sit a moment, call forth
a blessing on our enterprise. For this
commands our best. And may the sweet earth
and this day's sky be our loving witness.
How can we not humble ourselves, gazing above,
and find in this icon the doorway to our love?