The Architect

She hides in corners when she’s lonely

 

Last week, I found her crying- asked

 the why; she was staring

at someone else’s great news,

  thoughtful, it seemd.

 

She responded, “It is simple.

  In human interactions:

I am an architect. Not an engineer,

not a builder. An architect-

of love, light, and life.  I work in abstracts,

I make designs,

    for habitation by the soul.

 

I inventory the raw materials-

  the fragility, rage, wonder, despair-

and transform them:

   into glass, color, wood, rebar, block;

 batiks and bas-reliefs and facades;

 

interpret it all into vision, sketch it,

  let it form organically or forced;

the blueprint of lives desired and

   regrets and addictions overcome,

insecurities vanquished with arms

   and fire.

 

The most beautiful domiciles

    you have ever seen- 

  carved into bedrock, living pools,

Japanese gardens, clouds as backdrop,

   stars upon the mantles, fractals

in the floor tiles.

 

open spaces- where love and ideas

  are born, find legs, grow, fly.

 

I told her, “But that is lovely work!”

 

and she explained, [but it is not for me]:

 

“Each requires so much of me,

     immersion in their world, walking

in their steps, seeing through their eyes,

  listen with their heartbeats, feeling

 life through their fingertips.

 

I teach site selection and integration:

   their nature with their own

        civilization. I marry them

to their lives, develop their

   love affairs with their selves.”

 

“as such,” she says, “I too fall in love,

  it is an inevitable territorial risk;

     a little or a lot- each and every time.”

 

She sighs, looks across the horizon

 

she knows her own heart too well

 

“Through me,” she admits, “They all

     slay dragons gallantly with swords,

stake their claims, find their inner Hero

    and present it to the world.

 

We design such breathtaking spaces-

   refuges filled with love, light, warmth-

pulsing with life, vitality, richness.

 

The agony is the process [with me],

    the joy only ever the result [after me]:

 

and not one has ever come back,

  afterwards- and invited me

to inhabit that space with them.”

Reviews

[icelandicblue]

Oh how heart-wrenching. Her thoughts become the reality but she is never invited to sit at the table and enjoy with them. How very sad to remain the abstract thought in a tangible world. Good to see your work again.

[Marie Anzalone]

Sad, yes, but a reality for more thna one storng woman I have actualy known. So nice to hear form you again, dear friend- and cannot thank you enough for the support. Best wishes to you and yours in the holiday season.