Letters from some Friends # 12.


"It is time for our architects to think of the future,
It is time we set ourselves to work to invent like our ancestors."

And suddenly I find
I am the ancestor
that must be gone beyond.
Very well! So be it!

Let us advance to arches
that sail with the winter wind
and then sail back releasing
potential energy so angels
can cavort on the heads of pins.
All lighter than air

Unsightly stretch marks
reconciled with raucous vines
blooming red berries
and in season, poinsettias
in every window frame
All brighter than air

A substance for building
that engages snowflakes
with a thousand Gothic shapes
and preserves their beauty
in layers like stained glass,
in rows with tinsel strength
for balconies, stair railings, TV aerials
All lighter than air

And maybe, in chaotic storms
an edifice that hovers
in an adjoining state
but with its magnetic field restored
returns as all entanglements turn back,
their links unbroken.

L. Fullington

This is the twelfth and last in L. Fullington's series of imaginary letters.

If you've any comments on this poem, or on her series of letters, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.