Perhaps because it’s August she rises
in my mind and heart like sudden summer
rain. Memory’s swift torrent surprises
me, shaking the past from peaceful slumber.
Shower of images and echoes. Yes,
August, when we first began to sense our
special love, growing as a soft caress
flowers into naked passion, power
vested in vulnerable trust. Our eyes
opened slow as newborn kittens’, happy
to discover the world. Yet fear’s disguise
can fool lovers, its veiled claws carve deeply
in each psyche. It had before we met.
Our sad parting still fills me with regret.
Roger Armbrust
August 29, 2007
