I saw the angel in the stone and carved
to set it free. It rose like one once cursed
to rise and live again — ill-formed at first
and stood uncertain, its fierce visage scarred
with awful hewing; its gaunt figure starved
from lack of stone and earth. When once immersed
in daylight's glare, it shook its wings and burst
into the heavens, and left behind the hard
stone as though untouched. Everything is found
and lost and buried and then found again
by one who feels the heat rise from the ground
that holds the dead, or sees the purple stain
spread on the grass at sunset, or hears the sound
of lovers calling loved ones in the rain.