I knelt alone in the pews
On a Tuesday afternoon,
When I heard the voices of angels
Singing to me from the lofty sky
Of the chapel.


Like flutes at first,
Fluttering like birds
Down from the paintings on the ceiling.


First a flute, then an oboe,
Piccolo, violin, brass;
Then the instruments turned to voices once more.


And in the air they clashed,
Mingled and soared together
In the wide, grand space overhead,
Until they were one voice,
Radiating through the hall.


My own, (was it?)
Offering joy (was it my own?)
With hands upheld (thrust in my pockets)


Singing to a god that I no longer believed,
In a voice that I have never heard before.