Hearing heels click down the hollow hallway-
These are hollow thoughts in hallowed places.
Where the sun streams through stained glass,
I can see the dead skin float- in the spaces
that the rays illuminate in the cool, dim,
incense infused air.

A breath, a prayer, and I close my eyes
to concentrate and obliterate the distraction
materially caused by matters that take
no priority in any world.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the wrinkly old lady in the pew behind
me when her breath starts to rasp.
I wonder if she might possibly grasp
the disturbing affect her death in
church mid-prayer could have on
the collective chanting mind.

And it is so enchanting, so divine,
the archways highlighted in gold-tone paint,
It is so inspiring, so very Byzantine,
the detailed carvings of the ultimate saint.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the priest attempt to suppress a burp
while the lay people take their turns
reading snippets of the Gospel with somber
faces and awkward pauses during sentences
placed in such a way that it is quite clear
they do not understand the words they read.

And it is so uplifting, so divine,
the majesty of Christ who died for my sins,
it is so provocative, so very Byzantine,
the money for the poor collected in gold-plated bins.

Is God here? I wonder if God can hear
the feet that shuffle out the door just
before the closing prayer but immediately
after communion. A bite and a sip,a bit of
body and blood is all they need to satiate
their spirits until next week.

And it is so captivating, so divine,
the power of the spirit holy,
it is so righteous, so very Byzantine,
the echoing footsteps exiting church lonely.