The light in the corridor
smells of summer plants
of tall stinging grass
burning heat
on white flowers
that are too bright to look at

it sounds like crickets in the night
just outside our window
and for some reason
of the screeching of a car
on the asphalt

it looks like pearly sweat
on your skin
after a day of hard work
and your hands stained
with white dust and paint

it sounds like your voice
mimicking mine
but answering prayers
behind calls in the night


As the light turns off
I realise
I never stopped worshipping you