Attendant spirit who hovers 
over my bedside before I wake, 
listening in darkness of dawn 
to quiet breath, visible cycle
and image of prior life, how 
you are like the frost forming
on the windows outside, an 
awareness growing more aware, 
a crystal’s casing shearing into 
sharp and liquid both, that I 
should ask you:  Is God so like 
a human chest rising and falling 
that you find peace next to me? 
Or is God so like a high cliff, 
that when I wake you fly, and 
my gaze twists upward after you 
like ravens into the sky?