That day I thought I saw you on Ninth Street
outside my building, walking toward Broadway,
that sunrise hair like yours, your pace soft-sweet
with thoughtful grace, like when you’d turn and sway,
lying on my futon and laughing, hands
reaching toward me as if offering gifts
to heaven, eyes blue as heaven, command
of your singing voice soft-sweet, lyrics lift
toward me and heaven, then next day’s near lisp
leaving them on my answering machine:
“The way you wear your hat/the way you sip
your tea…the way you changed my life…” I mean…
that was heaven…mystical and bright blue…
but that day on Ninth Street…it wasn’t you…
Roger Armbrust
August 24, 2020
