It’s foaming now, like a prophet’s great beard
flowing in wind, its steady stream falling
over red-brick wall, sidewalk commandeered
by its seeming endless glow enthralling
me as its gleam softly floods North Lookout.
Not even steady rain, steel sky can stall
light’s glazing caress. I wish I could shout
to you, feel your warmth hurry to my call
and view nature’s brief masterpiece, only
living during rainfall. I love sitting
at my writing windows, no more lonely
like a lost wren, smiling stare committing
this art to memory. I realize
it thrives with gray-blue sapphire of your eyes.
Roger Armbrust
March 20, 2012
