And still she rises with you, Great Breather,
within subconscious response of spirit
through lungs and heart’s contraction. Like ether,
flammable anesthetic, I fear it
yet welcome it: memory a sleeping
lion dreaming of some future assault.
Good of you, walking with me through weeping,
into brief ravines of peace. Not your fault
or hers. Your haunting words resound within,
a decade’s echoed lyric. Can’t you let
up on me now? Forgive and cast off sin
from our human condition? End regret?
Humbly I bow, one among the faithful.
Shall I lie in prayer, and say I’m grateful?
Roger Armbrust
May 24, 2008
