Church

I sit at the kerb

With a body of stone

But, yes, a warming,

A breath within.

And my host is the place

That yet regards me

With care -

And many have come

And adorned my threshold

With a garment of Love,

More subtle than paint,

And finer than glass -

Yes, one that is myriad,

Woven all through

With the glowing thread of a beating heart.

All day I watch as

Young women laugh,

As a child runs past,

And a man staggers by with a yell to the world.

Come visit, cry out,

Or bring here a quieter

Poise and demeanour –

It’s all the same to me…

And I’d love to break bread

With you all, every one.

So how does Sunday look?

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