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.