“Sunsets cure anything,” she wrote today.
(Little did she know how a year ago
I wrote of her at sunset, graceful way
she leaned back studying its golden glow
like a melting sword over rippling lake.
I marveled at the photo.) Marveling
now at her view from Pinnacle, I take
my time. Bless flaring pyramid falling
into purple-hazed horizon. Rest my
eye in her artist’s eye recording blaze
and shadow, stripe of cloud slicing fire. Try
not to wish I was with her there at day’s
end: Heaven on high at world’s close, it seems,
like sky-soaring doves in gods’ distant dreams.
Roger Armbrust
March 16, 2015
