Bach Concertos

we sit rapt on wooden pews in a cramped
Methodist church, I know they play basketball
downstairs on Mondays and that their offering baskets
are not adequately filled.
none of it matters right now, the thoughts just drift past
in an ethereal knowing along with the notes written
down over three hundred years ago for a King.
we're kings and queens now in our jeans and sweaters
to listen to the same streams of notes pass through
our bodies like angels on wings, lightly, knowing
they will alight again on someone else somewhere
in some future, be it in a week or another hundred
years.