Steel gray stare,
slunk into the second pew from front,
cold gray skin, gray coat too,
collapsed in disbelief, full slump.
Painful hush of vaulted ceiling,
a breathing, heaving soundless rhythm
silenced by creaking of old pews seeking
another passion gestured hymn.
Golden glow of ancient woods,
framed square to arch kept heights
bathed in shapes of cornice,
hold thereby, chapel ceiling lights
that fold white beams of reflected sun,
break shades of burgundy and amber,
where brilliant smile of brass and gold
defines a humble servant’s candor,
relaxes heart when pains are sold
or drawn toward the highest bitter…
so cry a stale and stupored gray,
to warm a lifetime’s winter.