for Gabriel Solis
As we approach them, they seem a city
of burnt-out buildings—scorched black and ashen
white—thin and leaning, begging for pity
from bitter wind, its ice-coarse voice lashing
them for their despair. Still we trod this earth
of crusted snow and cracked jags; trip unsure
toward them. Suddenly we witness rebirth:
charred carcasses turned to slender sculptures—
frosted gray pearl and black pearl, guardians
of some hidden kingdom. Look quick! Through maze
of tangled brushwire. Gaze deeper within
their mangled cords. Are those old lovers crazed
by our past days of savage dances? Nights
we’d burn down their dreams, then turn and take flight?
Roger Armbrust
November 20,
2013
