Maybe that’s what I observe with you: first
your nova flash, rapid brightness never
ending. Then your reflection, magic burst
from stellar dust of memory—clever
as your smiling eyes, projecting toward me
and away. What happens at speed of light,
physicists may describe. I only see
our constant conscious contact—your soul’s sight
even when you’re not here. It’s always been
that way, or so it seems. When our light meets
in sweet dreams, my figure always bows, keen
to your energy. My poet’s conceit
defines our pulsating star, expanding
and contracting—search for understanding.
Roger Armbrust
September 9,
2013
