An angel parts the curtain and leaves the door
Ajar. And under the moon the winter passes.
We understand but little of things which freeze,
Which still search for design. The unseen
Have deeper translations. Breakfast is early.
The lights are switched off. We are careful
Not to give away our movements. The luggage
Slow dances around us. I think of white feathers
Under a dove's wing, and empty seats on a train.
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