I build shrines from wild violets
and from sea glass
because for me sacred is sometimes
just the way the light dances with leaves
or gently caresses the dark corners
long abandoned
illuminating for mere seconds
a fleeting beauty
not all sacred things are clad in gold
not all holy things
are held in temples built of stone
some are quiet
just a name whispered between breaths
when sorrow strikes like lightning
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 