In the hush between rain and earth,
a quiet god remembers stillness.
Stone softened by water,
time held in a single breath.

Atop his crown,
a small pilgrim of fur and instinct
holds up a trembling leaf,
as if shelter were a promise
even the smallest can make.

The sky weeps without restraint,
the world dissolves at the edges,
yet here,
between the fallen and the faithful,
something ancient does not move.

Not power, not prayer,
but a gentle knowing:
that grace does not always arrive
as thunder,

sometimes
it stands quietly in the rain,
and is sheltered
by what it once created.