wood and stone bolted down to protect us all from rain.
and then with singing hearts, some of us start building shrines that rival the sky.

tonight I am walking towards where all the candles are burning.
If you sit beneath her closely, the cathedral stands taller than the sky -
and if you touch the stone, you know, my Mum always said
think of all those other hands!
Look how the cobbles are worn from pilgrim-feet, here years ago.
Dead now. That's what these buildings used to be,
yards full of the pious dead, palms up to the earth.
and when I went to Canterbury, the entry-way limestone
was worn smooth like marble, and I touched it too,
because I knew there must be something good in all this,
such a big building, so many hands and feet.


a great warm shivering heart
that sits like a bird perched in the middle of my city.
Two big eyes that face out, casting light
back to when everything was young, and she was