Up those stone steps I climb. Hail this joyful day's return. Into its great shadowed vault I go. Hail the Pentecostal morn. The reading is from Luke 24. Where Christ returns to his loved ones. I look at the stone apostles. Think that it's alright for some. And I wish that I was made of stone. So that I would not have to see. A beauty impossible to define. A beauty impossible to believe. A beauty impossible to endure. The blood imparted in little sips. The smell of you still on my hands. As I bring the cup up to my lips. No God up in the sky. No devil beneath the sea. Could do the job that you did baby. Of bringing me to my knees. Outside I sit on the stone steps. With nothing much to do. Forlorn and exhausted baby. By the absence of you