Today I lit a candle for you for a euro
in Saint Mary’s cathedral
outside the Roman ruins.
I always feel like a fake inside churches but
for some reason I keep finding myself
inside them, unexpectedly,
wordless each time.
I know that your God is not my God;
that I don’t have a God at all.
But I thought
maybe if your name burned there
someone would notice.
I don’t know how long it burned for, but
those buildings have been standing
for two thousand years, so
maybe some things outlast longer
than I can imagine.
Maybe it’s still burning.
I’ve always wondered how long a prayer
lives out loud for.
I hope it is a thing that does not die.
This is not the first time I have prayed for you,
and I know it will not be the last.
I don’t know what I do it for.
There’s just something about giving a voice to fear
Like it can cut through all the other noise
in the safe but daunting grandeur and silence of
hundreds years old cathedrals.
After it all,
I hope you’re still standing like they are.
I hope you don’t live on your knees.
I hope you don’t call yourself ruins.
I hope one thousand things burn inside you.
I hope they never blow out.
I hope I keep finding myself, unexpectedly,
at your doorstep.
I hope you always let me in.