Cromwell had been to rearrange the face of the Cathedral and left them to pick up the stones - it went the wrong way, inside, and I could not orientate, veering left towards the Romanesque, lastly to the high blue and gold vaulting and the dark choir stalls. The lamp was burning but the gate was shut. I knelt in the thoroughfare, too conscious to concentrate. I left what words I could at his feet.next poem