There’s meaning in the ceiling,
In the pulpit,
Maybe in the windows.
Their bodies are quiet for their waiting
They clutch the preacher’s words,
Try to digest them through their systems,
Try to get meaning from them, with them
But I’m already laughing,
For in the silence
I have found the top of the blonde head of a child
Bobbing up and down as they walk
Down the pew row,
And in the back another child cries,
Defying the silence –
A bright gurgling of life.