And am here to sing my heart's content to Him in a church,


Part 59 of the 64-part series called "moon photos"

I am standing at the altar in the narthex near the window
and am singing out my heart’s content to God inside this church
the notes wind out my throat and curl like smoke against the ceiling
and languish there, thinning out and coating like a paint,
like a gold leaf, maybe, or a patina
of nicotine above the bar, of algae blooms on the lake
my words, they go no further than the inside of the ceiling
than the borders, than the shore of this world, filling up
the space within me like a snowglobe, or balloon made from latex
from a rubber tree in South America, divorced from its home
to sit underneath flickering lights, mercury-filled, listless,
waiting out its time until it’s picked up off the shelf
or the store shuts down, forgotten, bankrupt, lights turned off,
the shelves still full, the building broke for something else