Paying stark homage to silence, our dark
empty room expands. We feel vast motion
of our existence begin to turn, mark
air’s black tapestry as tide guides ocean,
engrains it with rhythms of deep longing
to reach far into shore then pull away,
then reach again. I reach for you, wrong in
sensing you’re still here, yearning with each sway
of night for your lost touch. Were you ever
next to me or mere shadow of desire?
Does your spirit linger, or do clever
mute devils somehow fuel this lightless fire
resembling shadows of your warm presence?
The door clicks closed, assuring our essence.
Roger Armbrust
February 6, 2010
