Something crept towards me
halfway through the church service.
I think it was a prayer—
I felt its eye on me, unblinking and rather
than approaching from the nave
or the altar, it came from some
inky depths where I believe
darkness is meant to have been lit
right out of existence. Who’s to say
and does its derivation matter—hell
I don’t know. Why
it was shrouded in a prayer
seems like a question for Rothko
or Hopkins—all was bleared, smeared
on the second row in the sanctuary
as the people knelt 

       Lord in your mercy hear 
       our prayer.