Flinty angel

Sculpted by an unseen hand

there is an angel in the wall.

Formed in flinty facets

her mineral wings

spread about her

and sparkle in rainy glazing.

Something has her attention

for she looks not at me,

neither in love nor blessing,

but stares beyond

at the beckoning of some other.

Is she hiding, from my inquiring eye,

her tears for the years

of imprisonment

in the wall ?

She is tongue-tied in silica,

trapped in the moment,

silent.

Who notices her

on this church wall,

or misses her

and goes unblessed,

untouched,

losing her in its magnitude ?