In Chartres, as the Germans marched in,
The French dismantled and hid the great cathedral windows.
Refusing to surrender beauty to the battle.
Not French nor Catholic
I lay claim to the story nonetheless, and whisper it to your sleepless night
as the footsteps of another enemy echo in your ears.
One summer, in the glow of Chartres’ stained glass,
I lit a candle, said an unclaimed prayer
that tonight, I know was for you.