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 gloom
It might lay benediction on a head
That death has left uncomforted.