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.
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