Shadows

One shadow on my wall, an intimate Of dusk, comes only when it comes alone. It lifts out of new dark and spreads a great Wing of quiet where once the sun has shone, Cooling the air like rain on stone.

Such shadow might find entrance to a tomb. And be at home in places where the dead Are fitful sleepers; moving through the gloom It might lay benediction on a head That death has left uncomforted.