Edmund the West Texas Architect

Building a dream on 6 concrete posts
and the determined idealism
of a deep, quiet somewhere,
he tucked his own integrity away into
the very joints and junctures of
a structure. It awoke from his sketches
And walked out onto a plot of land
A certain number of feet wide by
A certain number of feet long by
A certain number of feet high.
He stands pondering schematic incarnate as
the cloud layer dissipates from view and
the sun casts her left arm out,
half-embracing every juniper and mesquite in her path.
Is this less than what he expected,
Or is this little slice of something
Everything he waited for and more –
Dreams, work-calloused hands,
And the dust particles suspended in the suns affection –

There. Together. Quiet. And. Still.

Drinking up chamomile and honey
In the yet yawning moments of new-day.