Writing - a department of cuke-The-arts
Poems by Beverly (Horowtiz) Armstrong
Beverly's Suzuki Stories - Beverly's cuke page
Do you remember how we used
to drive to Eldorado Springs, top-down,
Gita in back seat? maybe Andrew too,
that grown kid. We filled jugs, jars, hands,
mouths with percolations of minerals
just sprung out of mountainside.
Free then. Cold. Feet in stream, dropped
my jade ring; broke and settled in
with our local distillations of magma, old
as rain from the Permian. Water wiggles
its way over and out these stones, wave
and particle both. Let it go, we said.
Iím sad youíre dead, that this
canít be a letter to you, though maybe
it is. We drank from the same fountain
for a long time, dharma love. We sat
at the feet of the mountain
and it opened its deep spring. You
felt to me like steep narrow channel,
rushing water, molten gold, spit
and rapids contained. Virgo, virgo, virgo earth.
Present rain keeps us to our candles,
dark and sparkle, like you. Moon rises
plump and mundane. Someone razed
our house, built almost identical
one on spot, blue too. Passing by,
i have to remember itís not really the same.
Annapurna in cuke