The river gathers
To squeeze
Its swollen flanks through
This narrow, peopled place
In flood, It commands
New space
Spilling
              down
                          the
                                   steps

Here
******* at railings there
Meeting again to move
As one fluid congregation
Not singing, but in prayer

I am here to marvel
Toe to edge I stand
On knotted roots
My eddying thoughts
Only half perceived
Rise like an ache
Behind the face
In the palms
Like grief
remorse
Or shame

Joining the slow march
Onward to the town
Of glass, cast high in stone
Where intellect and adoration creep
My knuckles brush cold stone
Now stopped by a half opened door
To examine the blood, the skin the bone
Inside, alter bound
I glimpse
The thorns
The crown

Our shame is audible  here
It shifts uncomfortably
Among the pew creeks
The hushed bibles
Then again the thought
                                
                    Clea­rer now
                    The feeling of apart
                    The answer
                    Half perceived