Sword ferns warming
some unfurling toward the sun
deeper green the moss grows softly underfoot
forest fog the breadth of morning breathing
grey, pale lichen clinging
a snow melt creek splashes running
clouds break away to light the day
the shine of mossy flowers sunning
this church it has no walls
no doors to lock nor ticking clocks to read
only of the sacred does this wooded temple sing
and I so humbled bow beneath
resplendent evergreens