We who walk backwards need rearview mirrors
or infusions of faith and psychic sense
to keep from wrecking our lives. We shiver
at thoughts of sand dunes or any pretense
of sunbathing unless we’re near the sea.
I admire how you fold your hands, gentle
peace of meditation, your breathing free
as ocean breeze guiding me a little.
All I seem to need. We who walk forward
seem to travel safe if we don’t hurry.
We’re always moving and removing toward
our center and our edge, vague land where we
never settle. I love how, when listening,
you study your fingers, their nails glistening.
Roger Armbrust
March 28, 2015
