I bow to the divine in you. Know this
is true by my palms and fingers touching,
thumbs close to my heart: spiritual kiss
in making love to your universe. Sing
of our sudden meeting in 3000
BC – you kneeling on Indus shore, eyes
reflecting clear river, your dancing hands
pausing when seeing me. I watched you rise,
tried to match your graceful bow. In each age
I find you – always – stare at your river
eyes, struggle to mirror your grace. The sage
said you’d return each century, never
staying. And so it goes with us: we two
lost, till I bow to the divine in you.
Roger Armbrust
June 1, 2015
