Invisible Architecture

If I reach my hand out
in front of me,

if I sweep my arm
through the air here,

I feel I am touching
something, slipping

through the invisible
architecture

around me—
light erected between

sky & ground,
city within a city.

Is this faith?
For years I’d thought

the space around me
was empty,

waiting for me
to enter it, to fill it.

The air was a blank
page I could write on

with my index finger.
I’d sign my name

near my face, each G
a half-assed

little squiggle.
I thought wrong.

There is structure
in the air we move

through. What room
is this? What hallway

am I feeling my way
down? What house

have I opened a door to
& what is held

by this scaffolding
I can’t yet see?

What are they
supporting, these beams

of light?