If ever we’ll see God’s eye, isn’t this
it? Moon pupil, hypnotic as witch’s
gaze, circled by sun’s consuming iris—
they’ve forged yet frozen sunset. Night twitches,
anxious to see fire fall behind our far
snow-wrapped Andes. Love, we’re nested eagles
here above El Calafate, our car
resting yet creaking from our climb, regal
city lights below us crowning Lago
Argentino’s blue-gray crusted surface.
Remember how we, centuries ago,
kissed just like this. Your silhouetted face
suddenly reveals your true identity:
Chasca—dawn goddess loved for eternity.
Roger Armbrust
July 15, 2010
