Clint’s memorial salved with gentle love
this Saturday afternoon. Nighttime now.
Outside my writing windows clouds above
begin to break. Downstairs, I’ve smiled in awe
as Makarova’s mastery and grace
floods the Classic Arts Channel. Yet I long
to climb back here to my creative space,
shield myself again with your magic songs,
your voice a surge for the soul, irony
blending psychic bonding and lonely hope.
You find gladness, even epiphany
sometimes in chasing rainbows. Your vast scope
through simple images stuns with impress
of a muse’s kiss. Tell me you know this.
Roger Armbrust
June 1, 2013
