“An Architect’s Aperture”
He unfastens
the heavy wool of \"Always,\"
setting aside measurements
of who he was told to be.
The wardrobe was never a cage,
just a temporary structure—
stiff silk and silver pins
holding back the wildness of light.
He lays the mask upon the vanity,
not as a broken thing,
but as a tool
that has finished its work.
The porcelain face
—steady, silent, sure—
can finally rest.
Beneath the linen,
the fractal begins to breathe.
It is not a decay,
but a blooming of geometry:
the way a vein mimics a leaf,
the way a lung mimics a tree,
the way his own wayward heart
mimics the pulse of the stars.
He sees the fool in the glass
and recognizes a brother.
Not a victim of the chase,
but a runner who knows
that \"being caught\"
is just another way of being held.
The layers fall away
until he is thin as a shadow,
wide as the wind,
and finally,
beautifully,
unmet by anything but truth.
.