To Harry and Vera

Last night’s rain
pushes into snow
and north to New Hampshire
at the door
of the Armenian Church
children circle
in cold breaths of laughter

Vera’s soft steps
ballet through the kitchen
since 6
with the sun’s eye
Vera is earth
creating fruits and blooms
wisdoms for the family
her heart ia an open fire
in a desert of snow

I listen to Harry,
called Boz, her husband
click the needle of the phono
with the music of America
the voice of the oud
is the color of Harry’s eyes
his soul is the spirit
that wakes dream from nightmare
with a smile
and a will to make
each day
the 1st day
of your life

Waking on Spring Street
In Whitinsville
I rise
In a tango

Of Harry and Vera