It was a Sunday
morning, full of cake and coffee
hour, children silenced
for a moment by sugar,
if not by the lingering
spirit of prayer;
I remembered there was something
I needed to ask.
He was standing
halfway back down the nave,
alone in the pew,
straight and still.
After a minute,
or two –
I had forgotten the time –
he turned; I had already
retreated. Slowly,
because of his heart,
he rejoined the congregation
of the living, having,
I imagined,
negotiated his annual armistice
with the rest.
over the water 