You who smile and gaze so in shadowed light,
who if you weren’t inside would seem captured
beneath shining moon, focused in its sight
as if only you existed, rapture
consumed within your understated glow,
bright golden-moon hair framing your soft face:
What sacred reality do you know
and share with your gentle stare? What lost grace
have you found, returned to humanity
asking no return? I think I know. Watch
how little Anne holds her pen, prays the globe
will change, grow kind. See kind St. Francis catch
eternity, softly touching his robe.
You watch you, and I do too, while I fly
godlike, graced with your call to simplify.
Roger Armbrust
September 12, 2011
