SPIRIT.

I wonder if you’ve called at York Minster
And stood in the centre of its cross
And revelled in the glory of its windows:
The Great East, the Five Sisters, the Rose.
Or scaled its heights with your child and
Been graced by the wonder in their eyes as
They stand in the middle of the world and
Turn in three hundred and sixty slow degrees,
Then marvelled under arches and columns,
At Gothic tectonic and Chapter House art,
And listened as whispers arise from the Quire
When there’s nobody there to provide them,
And on leaving looked back at the statue of
Constantine, and remembered the moment
Forever, and known that you’ve stepped
Through the most blessed house under heaven.