The Architect Poem

T
        h
              e
                      l
                           i
                              n
                                  e
              
                                   a
                                   r
                                   c
                                   s
      
                                   d
                                   o
                                   w
                                   n


—not a des                      .
      cend            r    c
              ing   a         h —
but a  blueprint
pressed into her skin, gr-
oping to her wrist.
His hand, o   u   t    s   t   r   e   t   c   h   e   d  ,
proffered a frag ment ed
                        e
                      v
                 r
          u
c                           of years.
 
So she took it,
that her offspring might not
see more suns e
                        s
                        i
                        r
than their eyes
could bear.