Hand folding hand, and nothing in between. A bodiless soul could pass another soul In this clear air and never notice it — One soul pass through the other, frail as smoke And utterly ignorant of the way it took. That is the fear she has—the fear His soul may beat and be beating at her dull sense Like blue Mary’s angel, dovelike against a pane Blinded to all but the gray, spiritless room It looks in on, and must go on looking in on.
