On a serene night a dark angel will call.
You’ll wish him away
because he’s astray,
but become entranced by his manners and all.

Whenever dark, satin curtains fall,
he seems everywhere;
though distant . . . who cares?
Whispers--fragile--linger like twilight

(hidden in corners of a gleaming day)
clustered in his shell--
looking flush though well;
the veil of loneliness held, barely, at bay.

Unexpectedly a dark angel will call
. . . whispering each name.
His quest is quite plain--
in groups or solo--to claim us one and all.