The Artist House Tinos

White merged with its idea.

A cube is learning how to breathe.

Light arrives without permission

unfolding across limewashed skin,

finding every imperfection and blessing it.

It strikes the walls,

it becomes a pilgrimage

from the obscure into brightness.

Like an architect, it draws lines.

Its shadows stretching like thoughts

that cannot yet be spoken.

It dives into the blue sea-

it ends where the wall begins.

Here, geometry breathes.

Here, the landscape does not end,

it is interrupted gently.

The rock learns to be a wall.

The wall remembers it was once dust.

A roof becomes a continuation of the slope,

borrowed just long enough to hold a life.

A wall curves just enough

to remember the hand that shaped it.

And the hand of man does not intervene on the island

-it learns its grammar

writes quietly in the same alphabet of erosion.

A stair pauses mid-sentence,

a comma of stone between sky and door.

Built forms kneel to the horizon,

and the horizon accepts them

not as impositions

but as pauses

where light comes to rest.

And in that narrow interval

between shadow and glow,

between nature and man’s creation,

I follow the line of light

-as it forgets itself

and as I leave a distinctive sign of presence.