Architect
Architect A body is the architect of itself, plans rolled up inside each cell. I love what it can do, what mine can do, all five senses working, and locomotion. Hot in August (as it should be), it rifles through old memories of heat and throws them on the fire. This August, this particular day, warm wind swaying the wall of trees, this exact moment dressing me in heat, in unemployment, I am as sure as I have ever been of the materiality of wonder built into the body. My body. Yours. S. Robbins, from Reading
Sherry Robbins 