In Which We All Fly Through The Silence

It is all in the
Spaces between music when
No one is
Singing and the
Silent praise
Loudest. The taut air
Of not song and
Unvoice where choirs
And orchestras hang
Still with invisible angels
And mahogany
Haloes.
We are all
String between the
Notes from a violin
In our before-song-after
Sound
Exhalation that
Is as we are. The passing
Of one movement
After
Another

Here ghosts pause and we
Fly