The profound blue of Mary’s shawl

sweeps under the horizon

just as the glass joins

start looking like ant trails.

Candles pretend to die, momentarily,

as I stumble into the Psalm’s first verse.

Then the songs are folded.

The pastor reads “release them”

from a book that says relieve them,

and the organist responds –

his feet feeling for a holy shape

in the wood. ∎