Before the dawn, I stand among silent pews,
waiting for your voice—bright as a flushing sky.
Your verses arrive like choristers of light,
each word a note that shivers against the hush.
You summon life in staccato and legato,
roadside wildflowers bent toward your tune.
Your laughter drifts through lines like incense,
waking the small, forgotten corners of the heart.
At your side, poetry becomes a liturgy:
we recite hope in unison, breath to breath,
our voices threading through the open rafters
where grief and joy find common resonance.
I lean into that resonance, tasting its warmth—
a hymn of sunrise turning shadows to gold.
You teach me that every trembling syllable
can stand firm as a choir’s final refrain.
So here, amid these unseen harmonies,
I offer gratitude for your zest, your song—
for guiding us, choirside, into the promise
that even silence can be sung.
.