The Architecture of Our Blood

The Architecture of Our Blood by Amanda Wenisch

I can learn nothing from trees
about the architecture of our blood.
What use is there in tracing back a line
to Scottish chicken farmers, hungry Irish, or curly-headed Brits?
I know it full in my prints —
the anger in the angles,
the beams of thick spiritual zest,
the floors muddy and beaten by the anxious pacing of our wide feet,
and this house sinking into sands, floor by floor,
until the roof is swallowed by time.