Remebering the Root

Some old wooden houses are deep, they have porticos, piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola. There rooms are arboreal they knot, curl and jut. A memory rocks me gently in its timbered embrace. I also have an interior that has been crafted by every branch of an endless forest. It is this depth of a life constructed upon the growing of one root. My house, my portico, piazza, loggia, gables, and cupola all reaching inward to where this whole earthy planet is but a single seed.