A Contemporary Canticle of the Creatures

For Sister Wind, who hums through turbines,
her breath a hymn of renewable grace,
turning steel arms in sacred dance,
she fuels our lights and lifts our gaze—
Praised be You, restless and uncontained,
in every gust that heals what we have strained.

For Brother Fire, both forge and flame,
who warms our homes and razes forests bare,
teach us to temper power with care,
to kindle justice, not despair—
Praised be You, spark of innovation,
ignite in us a truer transformation.

For Sister Water, life’s first cry,
now choked with plastic, acid, greed,
may we unlearn the sin of waste,
and let your currents run clean and free—
Praised be You, river, rain, and sea,
in every drop, the hope of equity.

For Brother Concrete, city-builder,
your grids and towers, dense and tall,
remind us: shelter is a right, not luck,
let no one sleep outside your walls—
Praised be You, but break our walls of fear,
until all roofs whisper, “You are welcome here.”

For Sister Web, the pulse unseen,
connecting voices across the void,
may your threads bind truth, not lies,
and mend the fractures we exploit—
Praised be You, digital and vast,
let no algorithm eclipse the outcast.

For the Stranger, the Queer, the Undocumented,
whose bodies bear the weight of scorn,
teach us to see our shared reflection—
no life profane, no breath “ill-born”—
Praised be You, mosaic of the whole,
in every face, the fingerprint of soul.

For Sister Silence, rarest gift,
drowned out by screens and endless noise,
unmute our hearts to hear the earth’s lament,
to pause, and choose, and breathe, and mend—
Praised be You, still and small,
where love begins, and systems fall.

And for Sister Death, who walks unseen,
her shadow cast by plague and war,
we plead: disarm her cruelest blows,
until your sting is feared no more—
Praised be You, though none embrace your call,
teach us to live so none are left to fall.

Let every creature, wired and wild,
code, carbon, dream, or DNA,
awaken us to sacred ties—
no thing, no them, only us, entwined.
Praise crescendos in the act of repair,
and grace is found in what we dare to share.

—Amen.