For Susan
Patina of a thousand steps
upon its stones, odor of must,
light cast through stained glass
on effigies bearing sanguine smiles --
side by side they rest,
Lord Hugh Despencer and his wife,
as they have lain in sleep,
passing through time
in their vessel of death,
unconcerned by centuries,
oblivious to the march of men,
sure in the thought
that they who abide in darkness
will rise together in that moment
of turmoil and exaltation,
love and faith sustaining them,
while we who nurture doubt --
proof and refutation --
cannot know what lies ahead,
I’d wish to share that journey
from which none can testify.