for Elizabeth Weber
I see this beyond the cliffs, flames rising
from eternal abyss, a jagged blade
or blazed crown fencing me from surprising
blue (is it sky or smoke or both?) and shade
shaking, bound by fire as dark wings dissolve,
no longer shielding sudden ashen face,
dog (or bat?), charred shock, so lost of resolve
it cannot scream, push away, void of grace
to pray for some narcotic god to save
its flaking remains. I’d swear two shadowed
hands rise above it, one gripping a grave’s
cross, one swinging smoldering sword. I’ve bowed,
bellowed for aid. I never intended
to pass this way. (Has my soul ascended?)
Roger Armbrust
March 18, 2008
