sacred

the forests and the hills and the trees,

the birds, the flowers and the bees,

they don't wait for you,

they don't call out to you,

they don't scorn at you

with eyes eking out an arrogance

of lives well-lived,

they just do what they are here to do,

day after day,

rising and falling

into the silence of that great void,

where everything is sacred,

not because they are unique

like the lines on your sweat-filled palms,

that you flaunt like flags stuck into

arduous peaks you finally climbed,

but because they reek of the ordinary

where everything is welcome.

don't build a temple.

build a hut under the stars.