Moments of great calm

kneeling before an altar

of wood in a stone church

in summer, waiting for the God

to speak: the air is a staircase

for silence; the sun’s light

ringing me, as though I acted

a great role. And the audiences

still; all the close throng

of spirits waiting as I,

for the message.

Prompt me god; but not yet. When I speak,

though it be you who speak

through me, something is lost.

The meaning is in the waiting.

R.S. Thomas (1913-2000).