Around his light corners break,
while an elevator returns from the Roof Garden
playing.
Bricks settle from adaptive arches and repeatable
blood quickens its beat within him.
Conception over footprints reforms,
loving-dust in this island.

But wet-tongued he touches that cord
tied to the socket, reverses
and bends the storm out of phase.
Not the wind-moment itself
But its musical remainder.
It is the same with arts and eras,
Architectural intervals, pressed taut
polarities in the arches and the blood of a man.