Ropes still hang from the tower
but the bells –
too dangerous now –
have been removed

The church is silent:
no hymns have been announced,
old sermons have soaked into the walls
and been plastered over

The star and the king have gone,
taking the money with them
but leaving their souls behind
in memory of the dance

It is heritage day:
an old woman circles the graveyard
and finds the door
to a forgotten room,
full of prayers

The last bus rolls away:
the dust settles

Light blue glass glows
in the east window

He is not here,
He is risen