Brown-Haired Hymns

Third row back across the wooden aisle

Morning light catching your brown hair

You bow your head before the choir begins

Lost in a quiet conversation there

(soft breath)

The organ breathes through aged yellow pine

You trace the binding of an open book

Nobody notices the quiet grief

Carried so gently in a single look

There is a grace between the stained-glass seams

Filling the silence where you kneel

I pray you find the peace you never speak

And let the quiet heal

The closing hymn starts rolling through the nave

You stand up tall,

your shoulders settle

slow

A gentle nod, your dark brown hair in slant of gold

Carrying secrets only rafters know

There is a grace between the stained-glass seams

Filling the silence where you kneel

I pray you find the peace you never speak

And let the quiet heal

(let the quiet heal)

Past the heavy doors and into rain (hummmm)