Robie House
by Ray Bianchi


When a work of art is experienced
walked into
breathed in through the nostrils

it takes on a different feel
almost like savoring a good meal.

noticing the little things,
opens new doors, and closes
drafty windows.

letting out the musty air
daring to be clear and open.

dwelling and moving in someone else's space
molds and melds senses ignored
into new scents and flavors.

new perfumes, new scents, like that moment in spring
when the Easter bells ring. and flowers flow into the fields.

The cold air hits my face, and I remember
the rambling of youth, the questing for a space,
for the personal communion, a basilica .

like old wine in new wineskins
I burst and bleed, and am alive

if only for a moment.






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