Church

We work in the church
In silence
In the delicate archery
Of sunlight beams
Streaming through the
Stained glass windows.

We sit in the empty pew
Closest too the alter,
We speak of god
In secret whispers,
We listen for the organs echo
But no one plays this morning’s chorus.
No one knows the key of distance
Between our souls and heaven,
Nor why we locked out hearts
In this old church to begin with.

We fill the eternal candles
With lighter fluid from the drug store
On the corner behind the small school
Where the children often swing
Laughing at nothing,
Burning eyes like torches,
Curling fingers towards us.

If god could play the organ
It would sound like this.