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  • Writer's pictureTuur Verheyde


There stands a godless

Shrine, alongside that

Thicket, near the water

And the hollow willow,

Cloven by the heavens

And the earth. Sit there

For a spell. Sit, bid your

Black box be blank and

Still. Sit in the shade,

In the sun, in the rain.

Drink in the whistling

Wind, the birdsong,

The whiff of worship.

Taste the tip of living

Untangled. Do you recall

A time when you were

Just allowed to be,

Untethered to trinkets

Or tallies?

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