From the Greek to gather, we’re told, or say.
Later from Latin for things to be read.
You gather me each time I watch the way
you enter our room, sharp turn of your head
like Scarlett flowing through Tara’s party,
slender and glowing with a rare impish
dignity, vulnerable then flirty,
as if naive to coming war. I wish
you knew how I’ve read your psychic legend,
symbols in mystic chart of your clear eyes.
We’ve shared our war and peace, learned tragic end
was mere myth, start of our becoming wise.
Sit with me now. Whisper low our story:
how faith and simple actions bear glory.
Roger Armbrust
February 12, 2012
