The Cathedral Green

The humid air smells of wet cedar and old stone. I stand in the nave, where cypress roots thread through the limestone floor, and the columns grow into the canopy above. The crowd shifts, bodies packed tight, yet here, tucked by the altar, I am invisible. Near my heel sits a glass of water; I tilt it, and the liquid surface remains level, refusing to diminish. The mirrored pillar opposite me shows the space five minutes past. I see the exact arc of the stained-glass light falling through the rose window, and a figure in a charcoal coat is standing precisely where I stand now. The water still does not empty.