Kneeling

Moments of great calm,Kneeling before an altar Of wood in a stone church In summer, waiting for the God  To speak; the air a staircase  For silence; the sun’s light  Ringing me, as though I acted  A great rôle. And the audiences  Still; all that 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