Sunday doesn’t seem a good day anymore
To delve into the peace and the tranquility
Of there being a deeper purpose to life
Instead it appears to have become a day
For movement, for explorations, for visitors
To arrive from Italy, and France, and Spain
Here to pay their religious respects, of sorts
But also to take numinous photographs
And to explain, to those in earshot
The history, the history of the building that is
Not their history, nor my history, such as it is
No, that life history is left for others to discover
