In the Greek Orthodox Church in York during Lent - A poem

Outside, the dewy stones 
blacken patches of grass where crocus peek
A Norman tower, a Gothic arch; 
an oaken door, riveted and hinged
keeps England out.

Inside the sudden walls recede.
Long golden faces
infinitely gentle, infinitely sad
stare down 
from nothing, frozen 
in the glow of beeswax candles

Everywhere
the heady, resinous scent of cedar
holds everything in place
wedding wood to light to life
with every breath

I sit and wait 
and listen
as an old robed man
I've never met
chants verses 
I cannot quite understand

And I wonder
what mystery is this 
that draws me faithless
to this nowhere space
where I feel
at home?