An Empty Church

God didn’t meet me at the altar,

even though my white robe

and bent knees

spoke of reverence.

The broken attention in my eyes

marveled at the delicately painted ceiling. 

Eighty-nine different shapes,

I counted. 

But if I was witnessing holiness,

how could I peel myself,

even for a moment, 

from looking.

Like the day on that glassy lake

where the sky broke out 

in flames above,

kayak below

It wasn’t a question of leaving

until the dark curtain

told me to paddle

back home.

So, I know when I see you,

because no one looks away

when being captivated

by awe.