An empty temple rests on the mountain’s crown,
stone and wood bathed in the last breath of sun.
No footsteps echo,
no prayers rise—
only the slow bow of evening.
The sun slips behind the roofline,
light thinning into silence.
Shadows gather without question,
content to arrive, content to leave.
The temple asks nothing of the sky,
explains nothing to the world.
It stands complete in its standing,
whole in its quiet being.
Here, truth needs no words,
no witness, no belief.
The mountain knows,
the temple knows—
and that is enough.
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