Poem: Seoul Vespers

When pilgrims hear only music in sounds that mean something to those at home, there is no choice but to feel the way into prayer. One can watch for the right time to rise, to bow, to sit. One can listen for the lilt of psalms, hymns and readings. One might even glean a Christo, Maria or Amen, as clear young voices chant in single tones or one side after the other makes balance. Feeling all this, they move beyond listening. Like the winged choir perched on Asian pines nearby, pilgrim hearts draw in close, chirping into the silence, unable to resist the song.