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