A silk laden hand, shattered glass stained gold and autumn irises. Lunar surface, soft glow pale. Flesh made of ice, embers on your fingertips.

Cast iron tongue, lays foundations of truth. Floor is weak and leaning, droplets from small cracks. Nailing promises, rust and rust.

Still a heart in the home. Beats forevermore. Elements interceding, reclaiming with thorns. Home's heart a wall of vine, brush, and age.

An architect with no foresight. Tumbles down, wastes it all. An architect with no hindsight, put paper to pen and build it again.

Save the land, make your bed. Take it with you when you go.