So in Trinity Church we stalk
to the altar, then turn to admire
light shivering through the blue,
bottomless blue, that La Farge
embodied in the windows
placed high above the vestibule
to absorb the afternoon sun.
Braced in the gloomy stone the blaze
of this implacable color frames
Jesus with two marble pillars
too formal to support the plain
colloquial ministry he preached.
But they hold and focus our gaze
for long moments, infusing
the blue so deeply inside us
we now will never deplete it.
Slumped in a pew we avoid
touching each other until
the heavens stop revolving.
Now as random chords implode
the organ, quaking foundations
all over Back Bay, our hands crawl
toward each other like sand crabs
almost too timid to mate.
The whole afternoon creeps forward
with this same nervous movement.
What if blasphemous stones fell
and broke these elegant windows?
Would we still regard each other
with a deep-set silence impossible
for the organ to violate?
As we rise to slip outside, the blue
of the windows deepens a few
degrees. The autumn sun lowers
below the Prudential Tower,
which thrusts into an atmosphere
breathed by the usual people
among whom we’ll shine secretly
with colors we’ve yet to explore.