Chapels

I.

I saw the conifer—but did not
know it to be a tree—
from the bus window

pointed dark against the sky
it stood taller than the houses

I thought it must be
the steeple of a chapel where
I might go and pray for awhile

Perhaps I am not wrong

II.

A mallard hen webbed
her feet on the window ledge
away from springtime mates

Our meeting was not dismissed
and she watched us skeptical
poised on the in-between

Loudly prayers and hymns praised
a Creator whose handiwork
posed just outside the window

Where two drakes wait and want
nothing but love to leap from
the chapel window into their nests