If I could talk to you right now, I’d tell
you how at night the Eiffel Tower, seen
across Iena Bridge, seems to blaze—spell
cast by its flaring arm as stars careen
through vibrating sky. I’d ask if you’ve gazed
at bright sun in ultraviolet light:
bubbling creamed coffee swirling in flamed haze
of wisteria. I’d listen through night
to your life story, memorize the way
you describe loved ones with your graceful hands.
I’d nod I understand when you convey
power and pain of running, its command
of every cell—how we sense we descend
to hell, until we catch our second wind.
Roger Armbrust
April 13,
2013
