And maybe it was that we sat
in an empty church
and God was making time turn
and you shine.
All I know is your hands
beautifully pale
pressed down and made music
lullaby bells
your hands.
I wanted to touch
but I watched instead because
you can’t touch the hands of angels.
But you can hear them play.
The keys sank and my soul
flew
and you just closed your eyes
as if this chiming ballad
was your voice and you
have been silent for much too long.
I played after you
and I knew you could speak the same way because
you answered
with those soft hands.
In this way we spoke
and confessed
to each other for hours
without saying a
word.