Sometimes, as I lie in dark listening
to your passion and control surge from heart
and gut, I fear you might explode, taking
me with you. Then suddenly you soothe, smart
and smooth, making me smile, then tears, laughter,
wishing I could hold you; feeling I do.
Back in my Greenwich Village days, after
workweek’s slash brought weekend’s salve, I’d talk to
Dave who’d interviewed you. He’d smile at loose,
rambling praise, my metaphors of you as
lark, volcano, wounded fawn, phantom muse
guiding to lands I’d never dreamed or passed
in this life. There at Quantum Leap, we two,
at meal’s end, always agreed we loved you.
Roger Armbrust
May 3, 2008
