Between the damaged roof and the walnut tree
slightly to the right, I watched Venus appear
using a celestial method long discovered
by astronomers who registered astral details
as we, scribes, illuminated manuscripts
in the dim light of the scriptorium.
Those days were sacred, when a robin
sitting on the window sill to preen its tail
caught the brothers’ attention and they
lifted their heads from smooth parchment,
interrupted grinding lapis for a minute
to smile at birds’ ease to reach heaven.
Today the empty monastery stands silent,
stone walls crumbled, beehives destroyed,
