For I have fled gasping otherworldly
to glide back to you who always knew sun.
What can I tell you of Mars but this: We
had no beach to lie on, though grains reigned one
and only land. Back home, do you wonder
why I stretch out to our ocher sky, grasp
our only sphere of light, lift it under
your gentle breasts to warm you? How I clasp
it without burning my bare hands? You thought
it mammoth, didn’t you? Didn’t we all.
How could we know its bright hue, scorched red, caught
staring like Cyclops’ eye, would charm us? Call
us dreamers. Call us fools. Feel its warmth pressed
to your heart. Study my sigh. Know we’re blessed.
Roger Armbrust
August 29,
2013
