"to dream of transoms..."

i come from a long line of architects
a grandfather who saw the devastation of
north africa as a waiting canvas, a beautiful
jigsaw puzzle he would put together from
the broken pieces of minerets, and shards
of stained glass that lay in ruins on the
western front...

i grew up with an uncle who collected stories
of taliesen and falling waters, like an
architectural anthropologist...photographs
and artifacts from prairie style houses
that told the story of craftsmen and simplicity
and a man named frank lloyd wright
a mentor he would name his son after....

i grew up fed on their dreams of transom windows
and coffered ceilings made of quarter-sawn
oak, Stickley chairs and leaded glass in
geometric shapes so pure that to see
light pour through them...felt like a
prayer

i come from a long line of architects...who
dream of light and angles, the modest turn of
a spindled balustrade and a time-burnished
newel post carved by artisans, simple cornices
and crown molding,...the sound of
falling water over slate and stone...the way
sun turns wood to gold...