by Sarah Law

May your doors be flung open – 
sunlight flooding the aisles, causing the motes
 
to dance as though they are alive – 
as once they were, on skin or tongue
 
of congregants who used to worship here.
May your pilgrims return, the odd and lost 
 
and disenchanted from this damaged world, 
and those who have been makeshift anchorites
 
bound by smudged screens and fastened windowsills.
May all creep back to your wide-armed cross,
 
find grace within your wounds. And may
I be among them, moved, and moving still.

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Sarah Law lives in London and is an Associate Lecturer for the Open University. She has poems in The Windhover, St Katherine Review, America, Psaltery & Lyre, Soul-Lit, Heart of Flesh and elsewhere. Her latest collection, Thérèse: Poems is published by Paraclete Press. She edits Amethyst Review, an online journal for new writing engaging with the sacred.

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