this small churchis seven eighths fullof singers

if there is a godit’s woven intheir one voice

one or no rehearsaland all haveflockedto sing Messiah

we fewto listen

and feel the weaveof so many voicesglimpse in thespacesseparating each noteeach throatwhat lifts us allthrough hellto heavenand back

In sublime painof memoryI attempt to threadmy prayermy spirit’s reachto my daughterwho died

the powerful voicessoarevery typeall togetherin onepiece

anything is possible

the instruments cry outthe solos move usforwardin human script

the multitude choruswraps us

church light darkand allinto other dimensions

every cellin meand around meis alive

buoyed betweenand uponthe great joiningof voicethe rolling waveof music

there betweenwithineachspace

my heart stopsand I seebehind my eyelidsthe colorsof my prayers