Since every sense is prayer, know when I think
of you, image forms communion with All.
My astral telescope’s focus, succinct
as flame, holds this great nebula’s starfall
and sees you there. My streaming Internet
captures Vaughn Williams’ “The Lark Ascending.”
I hear you in its violin. Forget
your warm breast against mine? I’m pretending
you lie here now. Velvet taste of sweet cream
atop my latte recalls your lip gloss.
Light jasmine perfume flowing through my dream
hints of you in the room. Since every loss
is prayer, I praise what others call a curse,
sending out this song to the universe.
Roger Armbrust
June 16, 2007
