before the sun, I sense your deep longing
to drowse. I feel your body rippling through
dwindling dark current toward elusive song
from some mockingbird you cannot see. You
who gaze now at fading Venus’s pearl
face through dew-moist window, I glint lightning
dancing around your iris, silent whirl
of inner spirit flashing, frightening
demons who lurk in shadows. What power
is this who summons us toward dawn’s renewed
fire, helps our linked cells no longer cower
before that terrorizing unknown? You
who rise in predawn grace laced with layers
of dozing stars, I wear your whispered prayers.
Roger Armbrust
June 2, 2010
