Poem by Jim Culleny

what would architecture be without light,
or light without architecture, man-made
or that which has emerged over eons:

incredible trellises of trees,
their intricate frames of chiaroscuro
on light-slanted walks under shifting
limbs while leaves flash and flutter
through the architecture of the
light within skulls:

synapse nets of Rorschach blots, their
night-borne lightning or, for that matter,
the hidden boney structure that holds it all up
as I step into stairwells or the shadows of
filterering trees enriched by radiated
thoughts and sun?

Jim Culleny, 2/21/22