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That it was slant,
that it was a slant of light
bent into corners
That it would not surrender
under the hand of mourning,
staying, went,
staying in the edge of the eye,
the peripheral
vision of the angel
One feather or
the tip of a feather
hinting to the color of God
That at the point of clearing
when seen
is an open roadway
choking,
the moment before blades become
reflexive and
the animal darts ahead
into the spreading light,
raising shadows
longing for the lungs to seize and
ache for separation
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