The Moments That We Have
When I enter the cathedral,
touch its portals for good luck,
walk these isles,
where left and right
the dust of ages
dances in the light
that shines through stained-glass windows,
do I think of God,
some mad Creator?
Do I think of death,
eternal life?
Do my footsteps
follow some old prayer;
do I look for answers carved in stone?
Or is this just another way of saying:
life is short,
and beautiful, and cruel?
The moments that we have
we ought to spend in sacred places.
My love is my cathedral;
I enter her in silence and in awe.
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