The labyrinth at Chartres cathedral

This limestone,
follow the dark stone.
The path trod by a million,
a billion, feet before me?

The labyrinth is a path
for prayer and meditation.
Each step, each turning,
each thought. Each word,
each memory.

I read on social media a message

from the children of a friend I found
after half a century lost: Kate.
She died, suddenly, unexpectedly,

peacefully, at home.

You were planning to be there
at our wedding. And now there’ll  be
no toast, no dance, no reminiscing.
I’ll raise a glass to you dear friend,
I know you’ll see it from on high.
L'chaim.

This path, this labyrinth
in this ancient cathedral.
The cool stone beneath
my feet. Is it warmed by
those who walk before me?

It feels like a body, skin smooth.

We are here, the living,
connecting with those who’ve
come before us, grace flowing
through the soles of our feet.
Can we look up at the arch

of the ceiling so high above us

without losing our way?

The unrestored walls of Chartres
are dark, blackened by centuries
of candle smoke and incense.
The path of the labyrinth though,
is polished by the feet of the faithful.
And those we carry in our heart.

A youngish dude with a man bun
finally reaches the center of the labyrinth.
Sits down in a kinda sorta yoga position
for a spell then sprawls onto his back
bent knees pointed at the ceiling
twelve stories above him.

As if he owns the space. 
More than the two dozen other pilgrims 
walking the labyrinth. I resent him
for a moment, then realize that
of course he owns it. We all do.
Are you smiling, Kate? L'chaim.