In my dream, you smile while walking to me,
holding slender date palms in each hand (their
fronds like angel feathers or quills to free
our poetry), your pearl summer dress bar-
ing your swimmer’s tan thighs, celestial eyes
flowing through mine and me. All of you flows,
it seems, as you offer me palms, reply
to my arm gently embracing your waist
by embracing mine. We’re caught up in throes
of warming breeze, walk clear beach matching your
dress, study ebbed ocean from which we came.
All soft: our words (knowing nothing’s the same
since we’ve risen as angels), breathing pure
air of spirit’s faith, our only sure cure.
Roger Armbrust
September 1, 2015
