This Angel

I imagine walking on a rope
In the middle of a city
Lost at the end of time
An angel passing quickly
Then lying down
On the horizon
Bold and frail
Of pale mornings without hope
I hold out my hand
He passes me by
I wait till the next day
Hoping to see him again
The spectre of this angel
I'm declining like the shadow of the sun
Eden behind islands
Found at the end of the wind
Where the angel is standing
And quietly waits
On the horizon
Bright and kind
Of nights that are fleeting and blunt