Night offers itself to us, love, and we
welcome it—dark comforter covering
our bodies and psyches, process to free
us from day’s splinters, from fears hovering
like Hitchcock’s birds, bunched on wires awaiting
our moments of lost focus. But now I
focus on you, choosing music to fling
out our minds’ gabbing committees, rely
on Vivaldi to lift us back, his lush
strings leading us to each other’s tired eyes,
finding light within our near tears, a hush
embracing lips as if we realize
we need never speak again. Your fingers
touch mine. Deep velvet peace lingers.
Roger Armbrust
January 10, 2010
