Formidable the way sunlight pierces
The chapel’s stained glass window all the way through
To the stained wood floor.

Hues teeth through the beveled glass,
Each pane soldered & stolid.

Color only on account of something in light’s way.

I fumbled for my camera, cursed
The bitter air its articulate surroundings, bargained
With grace that it might spend the afternoon.

There is dignity in form fashioned rough & clean.

Each picture window hallowed, imbued
With a certain solemnity,
Each a vestige of what was once thought to be holy,
What, at times, on occasion, still is.

And each contained by a structure of stone
Emptied of communal breath—
The intake of, the letting go.

There you were, silent near the rose window,
Standing slant in a pool of dappled light. Tinged.

You were tired, happy. You were watching geese flock.

I shot you when you weren’t looking.