If I loved the svelte aphorisms and I drink more
Liquor then who will save me now
While Alma is at her own house making love and
Caring for her children.
While all of the rabbits I told her I would save have already
Disappeared,
And the birds have eaten their seeds but they still are hungry:
My house has termites,
And I am a poet;
And I breathed inside Alma’s car today, but otherwise
Who has the will to save me
Or light up my Christmas tree while the words
Are going down to the bottom to sing into the abyss of joy:
Like the incest of a hero with his forgotten bride,
His sister of the cataracts with the blood of
Dragons,
As they are tossed over like coins in a whishing well
For tourists,
While Sharon is in Colorado just trying to survive,
While Alma is right here, in a house she loves more than me,
And the balloons are drowning in the sky,
While the butterflies and mariposas fall to earth like gasless
Airplanes and dragonflies
Who touch the corners of my yard where they drown
Like diamonds in the peripheral visions of
Her tearless eyes.
Robert Rorabeck
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-tearless-eyes/
