This continent containing us, its mass
of mountains, plains and deserts containing
lakes, rivers – all this containing lark, bass
and deer, cattle, crops and all sustaining
us – continuing tract of our lives. This
continent of your body, boundary
of your beauty and grace, your synthesis
combining concrete/abstract chemistry
of your psyche, your deepest writer’s sense.
This continent of your face, curved mainland
of sensitive expression, flamed essence
from your eyes and smile – how they can command
this continent of my being, expose
my bare landmass I wish you would enclose.
Roger Armbrust
September 25, 2015
