It’s as though you mold soft clay with gentle
hands while you speak of coming rain, how it
clears air, cleans skin, covers and then stencils
our bodies with memory of sonnets
and folk songs’ caring touch. I still marvel
at how love’s never frightened you, lyrics
honest as moistened earth. You feed my starved
soul with a voice so calm, so warm, it tricks
my heart, ending fear. I feel faith survive
even death. I feel your breath against my
ear. I feel your arms…I feel…My flesh thrives
like satin petals of lilies. My eye
catching rain, blurs at sight of your sculpture’s
form. You let me hold it. All life is pure.
Roger Armbrust
November 7, 2008
