Airless furnace and freezer, its near side
a crusted ashtray, far side a molded
cue ball, victim as asteroids collide
through eons. Still, love, we have enfolded
its soul in our psyches, eyes hypnotized
by its chameleon light portraying one
night some ancient Greek statue’s traumatized
face, one night a bright burnt-gold medallion,
its electric reflection a glowing
spine rippling broad back of an ink-black sea.
This night do you see it as I—flowing
dreamlike within blue-white clouds, canopy
a prelude for snow? Chant softly some old
song, love, as I enclose you from the cold.
Roger Armbrust
February 10, 2009
