Often I try

To analyse the quality

Of its silences. Is this where God hides

From my searching? I have stopped to listen, After the few people have gone,

To the air recomposing itself For vigil. It has waited like this

Since the stones grouped themselves about it. These are the hard ribs

Of a body that our prayers have failed

To animate. Shadows advance

From their corners to take possession

Of places the light held

For an hour. The bats resume

Their business. The uneasiness of the pews Ceases. There is no other sound

In the darkness but the sound of a man Breathing, testing his faith

On emptiness, nailing his questions

One by one to an untenanted cross.