Singing

We sat in rows, comfy
cushions for our bums - the
musicians ranged themselves
in the space in between -
the choir stalls were full

notes rose to the ceiling and
curved in, the conductor's
arms rose and fell, his rosy
face beamed - we all sang

our way through the sheaves
and I met an old friend
I had not seen since
girlhood:  what an enriched

afternoon of choral perfection
in every heart, to learn, to
lean-in, to be sure of
pitch and note - I will

go back again to feel the soar
of wood and see our dreams
vault in dots before our eyes.

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