and they’re partying on So’s balcony,
a brief yelp followed by laughter, then loud
voices topping other voices. Just why
I sit listening, just why I’ve allowed
my senses to linger like lost sparrows
by my writing room’s open window this
night filled with damp chill—it can’t be sorrow.
Nor fear of what’s to come. I simply miss
you, I suppose. You appeared this morning
at Kavanaugh and Lookout, sweet surprise
framed in your white sedan. Dark clouds warning
of afternoon rain vanished as your eyes
saw me. Your voice called my name. A divine
moment, we two at that busy stop sign.
Roger Armbrust
February 1, 2012
