Inner Architecture

i flick rust

from antique latches.

in the eves

swallows in silk taffeta, 

rustle the air,

a reflection 

of the restless static

that nests above my belly,

with a chittering intensity

i once denied as part of me.

.

it is impossible to ignore

the cement 

as it delicately releases

its grip on stone,

cold under my soles.

.

easing me back

onto a smooth grass, 

sunlit grounding,

your warm palm 

brushes hollows bare,

a memory-breath of life,

aware.

.

An opening of heart leads to recognition of our interconnection. Nature does not live in anxiety, humans do. With our propensity for affection, compassion, and understanding, we have the capacity to bring each other back into a space of kindness.

.

Photo: Abandoned building in Woodbury, CT

Β© M.G. Iannucci 2017



11 thoughts on “Inner Architecture

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