SANCTUS AT ALL SAINTS
Holy the liturgy spoken and sung –
as music patterns water molecules
sipped from a crystal glass, this place
and its prayers choreograph my thoughts,
my blood-cells, and the soul within –
Holy the light that quivers on the pulpit,
(brimming with its homily of silence) –
my gaze is half-aware of angels
hovering over the shoulders of the faithful.
A bright gleam settles on the cross
like a ghostly butterfly, knowing
where the yield is sweet. I rise
as organ chords swell like thick curls
of incense. Holy the hour that is done –
and the new life now begun.