Olive Grove, by Vincent van Gogh
They would say no angel came.
Why angel? What came was night,
moving indifferently amidst the trees.
The disciples stirred in in their dreams.
Why an angel? What came was night.
The night that came was like any other,
dogs sleeping, stones lying there—
like any night of grief,
to be survived till morning comes.
Angels do not answer prayers like that,
nor do they let eternity break through.
Nothing protects those who lose themselves.