Every poet sees a muse. I see you.
Your oval face, pointed chin, sacred skin,
slender brows crowning eyes of piercing blue
caught me off guard during lunch that day when
you suddenly appeared, amazed to meet
me, you said, though I was the soul amazed.
I gazed at you, prayed to appear discreet
as we spoke, though your magic rhythms raised
mystical images, subtle rhymes. Soon
you disappeared like mist rising to sky.
Yet I watch you daily in shadows framed
by our small space where honest words abide.
Now, lying by myself in darkest night
I’d swear you’re here, lovely in candlelight.
Roger Armbrust
November 7, 2010
