In the stone chapel
winter presses white
upon colored windows.
Monks liberate their voices
eyes looking up
at corbeled vaults.
Their prayers do not pass
the snow covered roof
until they sing.
The chapel liberates its tongue
from millennial stone
and issues granite psalms
that presses the monks’ ears.
They vault to their feet
and flee the achingly lovely melody.
copyright 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 