Basking in night light, I watch you watching
the sky here in our backyard majesty.
Sensing my adoring gaze, you’re catching
me off guard, your image—a tapestry
of peace—breaking silence with one soft phrase:
“Where are we?” I stir a story to please
you: reveal how we’ve scaled to a safe place
atop El Capitan, lounge at our ease
and marvel at the north celestial pole.
“There.” You point up to Polaris’s right.
Yes, I say, longing for you. “Not a soul
sees it but us,” you whisper. “God, how night
sings to us. Do you hear?” You look and see
me lost; smile and say, “Please, come sit with me.”
Roger Armbrust
March 30,
2014
