Tell me about the angel who came.
Did she say if she’s returning for me?

Did you tell her I sleep
where the train used to run,
in a tent that leans with the wind?

Did you tell her I’m living
where hunger walks home alone,
my voice muted by cardboard?

Tell me about the angel who came.
Or was it a bluebird in your olive tree? 

By chance, did either mention my name?