[I] To be treebark, tortoiseshell, lighthouse, raincoat To be this for —tank blocks, chiseled concrete pressed into page of turf, pulling seconds apart via retinal nerve— words , is drafting . Is decorating space/time as simple as an umbrella, unfurled, upside-down on the floor collecting spills, sipping on slips of the Freud? [II] There is architecture in an inkwell deep as a mountain quarry, still stuck on its stiff quill and there is an architecture that lets space speak that admits the orbit of light and fortifies its each and only detail Is there a better description of a cube than that of its construction? [epilogue] Perhaps one that, restrained in the face of war, of interpretation and assimilation, of disruption and time ‘s mercurial taste, stands, sturdy at its destination.