I love you like I love the mirrored dome
of a faucet’s single water droplet
clinging to my fingertip; flexing comb
of the captive cockatoo who sublets
the pet shop window’s corner stall. I love
you like I love the smooth tinge of amber
curling along my Indian rug, lean
as a sleeping fawn; the solid hammer
of great Pujol’s bat on a baseball, keen
as a thunderclap. Caress of a glove
holding back the snarling gnaw of winter;
the ballet grace of the greatest center
of all time: Jabbar and his soft skyhook.
I love you like you love to read a book.
Roger Armbrust
September 16, 2003
