The Angels Of Earth-Sleeping Poem by Taylor Graham

Shriner Lake, Mokelumne Wilderness

Lying uncomfortable
in my bones, I heard you
dropp to sleep, mounded dense as earth
in your bag.

Three miles from trail-
head, two in the morning.
No wind

but something's whispering
soft as a child
breathing. Moonlight
flits an edge of lace,
undergarment for an angel.

Over the aisle of trees
it watches me through lodgepole,
measuring an arc against my hours.
There are others, motionless
in fir. One keeps the prints
of deer, and one has flushed out
nighthawks. No wind. But
an angel's settling dust
in the tracks we made
to get here.

Each one invisible
except for moonlight.
Have they crossed your dreams?

I shiver under the hand
of the one without a name.
And then the angel of sudden joy
shakes me as I'm waking
in its way.