2:31 a.m.

I wish you could feel me when I reach out

and touch your vision, feel me as I feel

you—my chilled fingers growing warm, then hot

with fragile passion, as if fire concealed

in your blushed face had leapt forth and through me.

Have I told you how I watch your tan hands,

marvel at their gentle ballet, their free

dance through your sunlit hair? How your grace stands

before the universe as Athena

once stood on Olympus, arms spread like beams

of light, blessing her city with omens

of wisdom. Have I told you how in dreams

you sit with me by calm sea at dawn? Come

to me at night, whisper how I'm your home?

Roger Armbrust

July 31, 2014

2 a.m.

Walking in dark rain,

missing you, whispering this

to your distant light.

WINTER WONDERLAND

Spray spews defrosting

plane window as I wonder

is this my last flight.

ON WAKING

Through lean slit at top

of closed blinds sunlight streak cloaks

slight strips of green leaves.

PRAYER

Amaterasu,

mother of our universe,

enlighten each cell.

AGING

My wall of birthdays

piles higher, wider each year

blocking West Berlin.