Going up I watch them coming down.
Going down I watch them from behind.
An angel am I, always on the move,
and since my Master sends me, I must be
mercurial, and rationally blind.
Yet in their eyes I see the vacant stare,
and they don’t notice my inquiring gaze,
as if I have no role in private lives
and can’t inspire or warn them of their ways;
my silver heart quakes not from heat but fear
that fear that freezes deep below the ice
where rain’s unknown and snow’s too cold to fall,
a glimpse of frozen planets where we stand
like statues, where the Master never moves,
staring ahead, foreknowing, into time.
But here between the escalators to
the dream above, the world below, I fly
watching and hoping, unseen, unknown, yet
suspected to exist, and therefore know
I must go up, go down, and catch Your eye.