From our padded pews in the darkness,
incense of popcorn heavy in the air,
light flickers figures before us, not gods,
movie stars in this half-life heaven where
sins are forgiven and whispered prayers unanswered.
This is a good place to begin
the dance of dying. Here, this night,
under a vaulted ceiling, beside darkly-colored windows.
Candlelit-faces bowed of those still to dance.
Now, kneeling, waiting for me to finish.
Hush of the library as a child.
Reverent hush in a place of worship.
Once, but no more, in a school.
Some say the hush descends, but here,
this cathedral of the forest, it ascends.