His concert soars how I feel when I look
in your eyes: not even heaven or earth
but pure air and light – some rare clear-blue nook
of atmosphere in High Sierras – birth
of poetry flowing from your eyes. Or
gentle-strong swimmer glowing through ocean’s
roaring pacific ebb and flow – all your
eyes see and interpret through each motion
of swimming – blurring forms creating verse
you’ve yet to form. In your classroom today,
can you sense his strings and woodwinds traverse
splendor of how mountain forests convey
poetry through universe of being
you? Through each minute image you’re seeing?
Roger Armbrust
August 28, 2015
