"canticle"
In soul and cathedral, we trace
The primal beat of God’s heart—
Our hives buzz like bees around
A gallery lit by ancient art.
We guard our gardens as relics,
Offer compost for each sin;
Our pilgrimage is sapling-tender,
But whispers still ring deep within.
Stars we once named in clay
Now stream across our eyes—
Yet every light that catches night
Still answers to the same sunrise.
.