The organ’s opening notes

shake the stones, the marble floors

the Girls Choir’s sweet voices

soar around the Rose Window

ablaze with afternoon light

cobalt blue and claret red.

 

Lily’s long-ago solo

stirs inside my head, my heart.

The child-size statue or Christ

stretches out his burnished hands,

reminds me why I am here.

I hold his fingers, his gaze.

 

Sweet peas and stock are ready

my hands turn to creation.