The Architect

Stars gaze at the maze of her mind,

walls rich with foliage

sprouting tulips beneath the sky line.

Inviting signs welcoming the heavens to dive

and discover the beauty that hides inside.

The leafy gates with sunflower locks

unhinge at a smile or a tear of loss.

Stand before them with a pencil or a pen,

and they shall let you see their secrets.

Her silhouette rides before the setting sun.

A black cart stamped on a sky of

purpled pink watercolours

with orange strikes divine.

The tracks settle and rest,

Preparing for the water well decline.

She holds on tight,

with giggling fingers and eyes bright.

She falls deeper and deeper,

to land in the lavender chasm of her insides.

She leaps from the cart,

diving into pools of  silver mist and turquoise depths.

She reclines on perfumed rocks,

counting seashells embossed

on vanilla sands,

safe where the waterfall crashes and crumbles to glitter.

Pouring diaphanous gold over her naked skin,

Illuminating the bones of her home.

The spirits drench her hair in nepenthe spells

Singing songs to her of fables unheard, of tales unkept.

She breathes in clouds.

And watches them float slowly up, up,

to dance before the amber sun.

Lighting the world with threads

tangled in the tree’s.

She’s climbing one now.

Scraping her arms, bruising her knees.

She controls the weather,

Holding the tides, the skies, the creatures who wander

the land in her delicate hands.

She closes her eyes and tastes the bark beneath her feet.

Sweet like sugar, soft like sheets.

She is an architect,

This is her masterpiece.