Apollo exhales on the colored pane
The air drifts in, red-gold, akin to lead
I bow my head, cast low, as if in shame
Here in this place, so still, where lovers wed
I mumble, voices ring along the pews
I stumble, as if these are verses new
They echo through the room of golden hues
Of which sacred seduction whispers through
The voices lift, my eyes are led to meet
the heaven far above which I now seek
Ethereal, our father’s guidance sweet
Suspended, abse nce paints my future bleak
Like clay forgotten in the sun, I waste
The dust usurps my seat where I once prayed