if I lose my form
to the void • will the Spirit
soar over my face?
honeyed sunlight floods through
of stained glass, summer warmth
on hair and skin.
There is a sombre beauty
here; the high-arched windows
glow with eucalypt-filtered light;
a kind and learned voice speaks
of the curses of a
mighty fallen king, of the
import and hope for mortal lives.
If God prefers to be
here, this is not clear;
warmed by the window’s glow,
I see Him incarnate,
leaning full-faced into the falling sun,
soothing the heat of day with the
cool of evening’s Indian Ocean breeze.