poem – Lotus –

I imitate the call of a devotee.
My voice
in the silence
axes the chains of time,
conjures swirls,
arcs,
waves of ether.

Visitors who never walk this earth
wake me from dreams
they bring homeliness from a distant universe
warmth
their chancel blessings circulate.

This Lady Chapel cracks
fragments of coloured glass cover sacristy and altar
– cream, silk-red, hard to the fingertips.

A grey, wool curtain seals the room
the door is latched.
In the shadows, I believed I was alone
– a lightsome saint transfigures my prayers.

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