My choir robe was blue as the ripe summer berries we baked into our bread
The polyester carpet was as gray as my worst fears of the future
I'd grind the heels of my plastic sandals into its sorry skin and train my eyes ahead on a single stained glass star
The fitting pinnacle of a room that promised perfect for a price
My voice would fly fish across the shallows of sacrament
The chaos, the chorus, the casting — again and again beating towards that curiously lonely light
I pulled my heart from my throat, such a soft sacrificial lamb
Drew eyelashes off the cheeks of every hurt that ever called someday their reason to stay
I let the pews punish my joy with fingers pointing skyward and pressed to their lips
Make this wishing breath count, but make it quiet
Speaking secrets aloud only spooks what you seek
I reel my rod in empty and begin to hum the hymn instead