I sing your praises to High Sierras
and they chorus back to me -- not echoes
but lyrics of their own: hidden sorrows
of your deep wounds, your secret tears exposed
through terror’s screams to save yourself. Those howls
I thought a legion of wolves reveal wind’s
memories of your journey – gashing scowls
of pain and near despair. Then sunrise sends
slow reflections over Tahoe’s surface:
sign of spirit’s mute miracle mirrored
in your smile, visions of your shining face
rippling throughout clear waters – all we’ve feared
now vanished, healed by honesty’s soft light.
Our peaceful eyes study a starling’s flight.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2015
