with my eyes, gazing at vision of your
gray-blue eyes in cosmic ether of dream,
space of silence where you now stand, so sure
of your place and presence. What is esteem
if not value assured and unstated
in your stance, erect as still deer at lake’s
edge? Artist at ease, psyche related
to canvas and color? Poet who takes
images past borders? Hair designer
caressing soft lock with such skill, muses
fill atmospheres with silence—definer
of reverence for beauty. Who chooses
silence more than gods? I believe they do
because they stand in awe, admiring you.
Roger Armbrust
February 15, 2012
