And so, love, you and I lie here as one,
fused together by blessed, blazing senses,
volcanic eruption of our passion
welded through ages to solid rock, dense
as granite. Like the ancient Servian
rampart in Rome, Cristallo’s weathered cliffs,
scaled palisades of columned Minervan
temple, we last. How is this our motif?
Slight and tender as shoots, we still derive
strength from true words and touch, eyes transparent
and bright as crystal. We know our bound lives—
compounds of glass shards, preserved ash fragments.
Yet healing thrives in many ways when we
humans form from earth, longing to breathe free.
Roger Armbrust
January 7, 2009
