Godlover -- rising in silence as light
wakes -- slips on sweats, cotton socks, special shoes,
steps out the door into chilled, fading night,
whispers to disappearing stars -- homes whose
inhabitants whisper back, he’s sure. He
studies bare terrain, knows he must reach far
dot of forest by noon, first rest then walk
in its cool shade. She will be walking there
too, singing of dancing spirits. They’ll talk
of their dwindling tribes, sit by rare water
reflecting cloudless sky, speak of what frees
the psyche through prayer, through dance and laughter.
They’ll decide again to dance, laugh and pray.
She’ll leave. He’ll turn, run back through fading day.
Roger Armbrust
October 17, 2015
