I didn’t know I was going on pilgrimage
to Canterbury Cathedral in order to be

alone, in a garden behind the church,
by the World War I memorial –

alone with the statue of a marching soldier, whose eyes
were looking up to the cathedral spires, looking up
to something greater than death in the trenches.

As I thought this, standing in the silent light,
an English robin, with red splashed on

his tiny breast, caught my eye
through the green leaves.