Cathedral Without Score

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 rite 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 trendline, 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.