Now they have gone
crouching into tall grasses
or fading between branches of
long standing pine
whispering flutters
caught up with summer winds
while benches hold steady
to gathered warmth that lingers
reservations for all permanents
in the Church of the Wood.
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In the centre
of this pale punishing
room
I stand
free and still
feel heartbeat
rhythms
hear you—
my own voice
sing in walls
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Here
where the spirits
of thousands
uplifted and melancholy
sway eyes closed
imagining encounters
with greatness
gud luk
good night.
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