Wow. I’m still seeing Ryder and Gere hand
in hand on that golden field, that vast park
where she and I strolled, caught up in command
of light -- limited time. Later I walked
there alone, still seeing her sunrise hair,
hearing her laugh, her song. A thousand miles
and years away now, I still feel her there
sometimes, burning each cell with her soft smile,
handing me that book by Homer. What’s death,
after all? A heart rupturing within
her graceful frame? A whisper and last breath?
Or memory wisping off like smoke in wind?
Once, on my voice mail, she crooned “You Can’t Take
That Away From Me”. I’ve kept it on a tape.
Roger Armbrust
November 9, 2016
