Beacon Hill’s facade breathes—white entry steps, learning shadows dance with light. A timeless whisper, alive in discovery’s breath.

Facade listens
step learns white
entry breathes

Velvet whispers cling to this townhome’s bones— where light once bled, stars linger in echoes, silent, steadfast, a hollow hymn roofs still keep.

Steeple dips to sails,
roof tiles whisper, *hush*.
Foundation graves in frost—
roots drink the sky’s slow thaw.

Shadows stitch the walls,
a loom of timber, bone.
Reveal: the hollow space
where stars might’ve slept—

now, only the echo
of nails in waiting pine.