I write this poem to beauty. I write
this poem to grace. I write this poem
to the silent instance between lark’s flight
and cricket’s call as shadows fall—slow hymns
to honor sun’s memory through Allsopp’s
woods. Tell me only good comes from our soft
words wandering like small children through stops
and starts along this wonderland, this loft
of gentle space between us, within us.
Tell me with your silence you understand when
I stare as if surrounded by stardust
turning this low-lighted room to heaven.
I write this poem to show sacred worth
of us here at ease, like no place on earth.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2011
