Peter Chapman Poetry

going in the buildings

the tour was rare
we did down there
sea never far, talc-y sand
blue blue sea i prayed, going chapels
up and down with her

it was good to sing the songs
that way, dressed casually with others
gone to pray, the raiment and the altars
us kneeling quietly

i could be either Twain or Ulysses,
dying to write my story for the cash,
or urging it done, urging it done

how mad you were at me that time,
driving fast enough to kill
if looks could

where might we be going now,
lovers in the stained glass windows above the cross,
feeling love, sustaining loss