Gravity lost its power and I sailed
through sky of your iris, through pupil’s dark
space to reflective center light. I hailed
its playground of stars. Found spring a soft spark
on Jupiter, a blaze on Mars, cherished
your hand in mine, worshipped your laughing snorts
as signs of overwhelming joy, perished
sometimes in your tears, sometimes in all sorts
of small, revered breaths and sighs. When you left
me floating through void, I tried to grow wings,
tried to swim, tried prayer, tried to dictate drift,
tried soaring yoga, tried to breathe and sing
without air, tried to wish my body slack,
grow my heart still. I never could get back.
Roger Armbrust
November 14,
2012
