In great and humble churches,
The prayers of those on bended knee stay alive. Floating, as if spun from invisible gossamer, in the sacred air.
Steeped in prayers left behind, the atmosphere hums with their presence—Devotion, deep and palpable, hangs like whispers in the stillness.
It is in these churches and cathedrals that I seek solace,
to sit among the echoes of those who came before me,
Their voices left like unfinished sentences,
waiting for me to find their thread.
Here, I feel their resonance and add my voice,
turning to the Divine for our shared intercession.
Letters to the Universe 