Summer Sunday School

“On Sunday morning I went out for a while in the neighbourhood; I bought some raisin bread. The day was warm but a little sad, as Sundays often are in Paris, especially when one doesn’t believe in God.” - Michel Houellebecq

Near where I live
is a Quaker meeting house,
and an Anglican church
I’ve been in once,
but only to help with a stall
at a farmer’s market.

On hot and humid
Sunday mornings,
I sit on a bench
in the shadow of a tree,
and watch the leaves
and motes of dust,
falling like notes
in a composition,
intended to celebrate days like this.

When you don’t believe in God, the bliss
you find in looking at churches
on hot and humid Sunday mornings
is just a little sad,
but all the more
intensely beautiful for that.
The days of work pass in a bat
of Time’s eyelids.

Away, the Saturday sabbath light burns.
Sunday morning;
the light returns.