I whisper, so as not to interrupt,

but your eyes see  Another, and my presence

melts into the recesses of the Cathedral;

my footsteps echo hollow on grass and stone.

Kneeling in reverence,

you rise above me to a secret place,

a cleft in the Rock;

and I am left behind, in this plane –

yearning, always yearning.

Even I can see

that in prostration, you achieve elevation;

you lift up your head

and bow your heart

and step over the threshhold