Into my cathedral, no path to follow
Just my will. An alter of dirt and moss
Built by no human hand gives me pause.
I do not believe in God.
God, “I don’t believe in you.”
But when you whisper through leaves
Trees rustle back their peaceful thanks,
“How can your existence be denied?”
One thing that will endure, is beauty.
So while you and I may never break bread,
Interwoven inside each step taken on my path
A presence I can no longer deny.
God, I believe, now, believe in me.
Yesterday, I walked up a stream into a womb
It’s walls covered in soft beds of moss
The trees, eternal, whisper my return.