St Paul's Cathedral

Gilt not guilt, colonnade and font,
vertical air vaulting through organ music,
the cassock swished by milling throngs.
More Saul than Paul, I stay below
your veiled and whispering ascension;
crick and tilt expectantly
to recognize your simple waving
climbing still the concave light
whose distant apex winks the eye of God.
Far below, I'm sunk like marble
blinking back the Light of the World,
indifferent to geometric stone,
undoing old Donne's words -
Every man is an Island;
Death be proud, for thou art mighty and dreadful;
The Damascus road outside is uneventful traffic
and no-one asks for whom the bell tolls.