An empty nave rehearsed a piece of sky. Reminding stone it only frames the breath. The sacred isn't architecture high. It's what revises law in candle's stead. Our right is slight, three moves and then we rest. We speak the felt and let the echo say. It loosens grit, lodged quiet in the chest, and moves the brittle loops out of the way. We watch the trend line, not a trophy's gleam. Repairs arrive before a half hour's run. For every contest nest a gentler theme where inventories end and evenings begin. Thus, meaning turns from ledger into light, a scoreless play that calibrates the trust. No trumpet, only calibration slight, and daily work to polish off the dust. ![[_FileOrganizer2000/Processed/Attachments/5ffb9aef-f104-490e-be3c-575471ce7308.wav]] #poetry #philosophy #spirituality