Chapel Perilous

The angels have erected
An edifice of freedom
From red brick and yellow brick
And wood painted red.

And I can see it from this window
Across an expanse of air
Plastered with sunlight from directly above
But closed today in spite of the Lord.

Fruit and vegetables are served in this room
On plain white plates made in England
And there’s tea, coffee or hot chocolate
In cups and saucers the same.

Sustenance and comfort
goes some way toward
filling the silence
of solitary pilgrimage.

But exchanges completed
the smiles of the servants
have moved on to new guests
in a mirror I see their indecision.

The clock on my wrist
Says twenty-five past twelve
And the afternoon opens
As I walk outside.


James Piers Taylor
18/6/06, London