Hearing his “First Arabesque”, I see you
swimming through calm lake, your long arms reaching
forward, pulling back against its clear blue
liquid’s gravity, your smooth strokes teaching
the gazing bass something new of motion,
your feet gently kicking, graceful ballet.
As you near shallows, I’ve a slight notion
you’ll sing as your sleek body rises, may
even dance the shoreline – all this from joy
of your lift, your stance. Yet you turn and smile
at me, free your sun hair from braids -- glory
of you in morning glow. Thousands of miles
away, a bomb explodes, souls scream in fear,
children weep and search for food. But not here…
Roger Armbrust
February 6, 2016
