Angels Unaware

The hollow hills return their travellers

Lost and out of time

On the unsubstantial streets.

The boy panhandling on Yonge

Has no shadow, and will live forever.

Seven crows are silent among the pigeons in the square;

In the haven of the Spit, a white ship, un-noticed,

Waits to sail west.

In the dreamt city the riff-raff are

The guards at the gates of faerie;

Are the rockfall that hides the easter caves,

The glamour that obscures the grail.