The piece leaves standing a single image: something vast and sacred briefly surfacing from depth, then being reclaimed. The title names a sunken cathedral, and the music enacts the legend rather than describing it. Bell-like chords toll through what feels like water — their resonance heavy, muffled by distance — while parallel harmonies rise with an organ-like weight that suggests stone architecture ascending into air. The one moment of full presence, where the texture thickens and figures cascade across the keyboard, is not triumph but apparition: the sound of something ancient making itself briefly known. The suspended quality of the whole recording — its held weight, its sparse surface, the way each chord lingers as though sound travels slowly through a medium denser than air — confirms that the music's subject is the condition of submersion itself. The long dissolution at the close is not a fade but a re-sinking. What remains is the feeling of having witnessed something that was always going to return to the deep, and that knew it from the first chord.