Gothic of course with gargoyles
wandering the ancient halls.
timeless despite the chiming
never to be heard in unison.
Clock hands close in prayer
where, gowned, the giant ravens
barely see the visitors’ gaze
in shades of admiration.

An aria sung on a bicycle
drifts graciously through the years.
“Wait to be asked” was sound advice
in finding a life worth living
among minds higher than mine,
their intellect as tangible as stone
were stone winged for flight
above reason’s  indifference.

I may cross the bridges pausing
to think of the fall that is to come
though we imagine perpetual summer.
Berryman when young spoke of listening,
another American passing through
Others remain until their leaving
is a certain life no more.
The river flows again in the thaw

The news is always of godless wars.
In this town divinity resounds.
Consider the names from an age of faith.
God is a learned being.
Even in secular thinking
the search is for the soul.
Wild hands gesture dismissal
Learning has its strength in silence.

A door may close without warning
when another opens in welcome.
Change has a long history
even in the shadow of King’s.
The past is a spectral evening.
Now is not the way of old.
Yet wisdom dispels needless doubt
I step as if for the first time.

Cambridge

– Geoffrey Heptonstall