You Live Here.
You live here,
This place, with countless windows,
Glass peppering stone,
Panes, shapeless and fluid,
Each made by memory, not man’s flesh & bone
The tower when new, clean as a leaf, fresh of spring,
Not a chink, no glimpse of light,
Slowly, surely, apertures came, soon after born,
Shards fingered across tight boarded floor,
And dappled reflections of dawn
These holes, windows, looking onto what’s been,
Shimmering handmade glass,
Each a memory gleamed,
As a child though in unfocused haste,
The first panes looked to a milk fogged day
Then the full glared gaze into late summer, teenage sun,
As windows, they stayed,
Creating now this temple of every yesterday begun,
The meadows and meandering brooks in which you played,
project through the smallest apertures,
upside down on opposing walls, as if having fun
The views, some to gaze, while you daydream of a different breeze,
Catch your attention, holding fast, while you breath their tree’s,
Others to your surprise, a slap across cheeks,
Smelling the view, of picked possies or woodsmoke on Grandfather’s knees
This house, nestling in most magical,
Of countless windows bright,
Many years this place,
But there’s plenty room for more hindsight,
This palace of glass, not yet done,
Here and over there, more light to come
This place, with countless windows,
Glass peppering stone,
Panes, shapeless and fluid,
Each made by memory, not man’s flesh & bone
The tower when new, clean as a leaf, fresh of spring,
Not a chink, no glimpse of light,
Slowly, surely, apertures came, soon after born,
Shards fingered across tight boarded floor,
And dappled reflections of dawn
These holes, windows, looking onto what’s been,
Shimmering handmade glass,
Each a memory gleamed,
As a child though in unfocused haste,
The first panes looked to a milk fogged day
Then the full glared gaze into late summer, teenage sun,
As windows, they stayed,
Creating now this temple of every yesterday begun,
The meadows and meandering brooks in which you played,
project through the smallest apertures,
upside down on opposing walls, as if having fun
The views, some to gaze, while you daydream of a different breeze,
Catch your attention, holding fast, while you breath their tree’s,
Others to your surprise, a slap across cheeks,
Smelling the view, of picked possies or woodsmoke on Grandfather’s knees
This house, nestling in most magical,
Of countless windows bright,
Many years this place,
But there’s plenty room for more hindsight,
This palace of glass, not yet done,
Here and over there, more light to come
You Live Here.
Leaf, glass, wood.
Leaf, glass, wood.
Edition of 20.
Edition of 20.
W x H x D
A3 box frame + accompanying story in A4 box frame.
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