They all are you. I stroll my mystic mind’s
gallery—pen-and-inks, watercolors
matching your eyes to tones of spring. I find
fall sky of your iris changing contours
as I pass glowing close-up of goddess
face, arched eyebrow like a distant storm cloud
granted peace. Every critic must profess
your classic presence within each frame—proud
pressing jaw set free by graceful lips, gaze
demanding honesty. Then your wall-length
reclining portrait, pearl and sapphire haze
embracing your body, sharp bare-boned strength
of sense and symmetry. My poetry
honors your architecture’s mystery.
Roger Armbrust
March 11,
2013
