I brake my sudden spring of step, to still
and slow, so I can take in precious things,
windows that hang like jewels, shine dark
to one confined inside this world.
Within a prism arc of colour that
adorns each corner of the speechless
sepulchre, touching with brilliant rainbow
lustre, landing, leaping on gilded saints.
In bronze tribunes, I trace the outline
of things past, I cannot tell meaning, yet
the mystery holds me here
in this great cavernous swell
of dark and bright, lances of pure light
falling on flagstones, pews,
curtained velvet screens,
secreted rooms, things unseen.
To the one silent, solitary ear
this room speaks volumes
I hear, rich bourbon tones speak to
a numinous mystery.
Sacred, secular, neither, either
here present in the hum of a universe
I stop to look, I start listening,
and that's enough
