The earth itself made pinnacle pulpit
holds the pull of tides and troubles,
looms, tolling— stark and steadfast—
over fluid lands.
Those at mercy of an elemental war
took visibly shifting, volatile soil,
for a voice— bellowing, breathless giant—
singing of a steadier hand.
Here we enter, bask in light and piped song,
look on a reframed world and give thanks;
take in hand triumph—elements broken. Here,
beauty, from Beauty, pleads mercy.