There were three of them 

Animal like in the half light 

No sight

No sound 

No speech 

Three angels crouching under the bent buttressed shadow of wall

Behind the railings and steps 

flanked by figures carved in stone

I found them hiding behind the church

all glowing in the gathering dusk 

Fallen perhaps? Certainly quiet 

And with the muted look

of things not expecting to be seen

The air was winter wet

And there I was crouching 

with them in this hidden garden

The descending swell of fog 

brought a hush over everything 

And I thought one turned and 

tilted its head towards a question

Out of this mutual gaze 

came forth a sort of prayer

Surprising perhaps that this 'yes' 

This listening to the heart 

Should be ushered in not by 

the dazzling presence of a Gabriel 

But by one fallen from its perch

Where might angels appear 

in the places where we fear to tread? 

Which cold walls might we dare 

to venture behind this advent 

to find the hidden light?

What is waiting for us to speak 

within the unexpected 

corners of our dreams?