We climbed the rocky steps in the drizzle,
Up to the church on the hill.
We reached the landing with an overlook, a little shrine.
A view that stops your breath.
The tower was closed till May,
But there was a drab hallway,
With an elevator. And a window
Cluttered with beetles, nestled there,
Slow and groggy with the cold.
Each boy caught one in his hand.
The younger one cupped his,
Talking to it. The older one, though,
Walked to the edge near the shrine
And made a show of letting his go.
“I don’t know if there’s a God,” he said
“I just know all creatures deserve kindness.”
And how that drowsy beetle flew.