NeuroDivine

A Sunday Kept in Love began as a reflection on an ordinary Sunday shaped by absence, devotion, and small, faithful rituals. The poem gathers simple domestic details—the batter left waiting, the organ lifting prayer at eleven, a familiar café table with one chair open, two cats keeping watch at home—and discovers in them a love that does not diminish with distance.

The accompanying stained-glass image renders those same moments in luminous colour. What might seem commonplace becomes radiant: kitchen light, parish music, quiet companionship. Together, poem and window suggest that holiness is often found not in grand gestures, but in the steady, repeated acts that keep love alive. In such rituals, ordinary time is made divine.

A Sunday Kept in Love 

The batter waits within the fridge,
A gift he left for me—
A quiet sign of steadfast care,
Of home’s fidelity.

At eleven, organ keys will rise
To lift the parish prayer;
My hands will play the people’s hope,
His love still lingers there.

At lunchtime in our usual place
The staff will surely see
One chair left open at my side—
Yet he’s not far from me.

For Sundays never fall to void,
Nor leave me quite alone:
Two cats keep vigil at my feet,
The plush band guards our home.

So even when the day feels thin
And distance draws its line,
The small, sure rituals of love
Make ordinary time divine.