Becoming The Moon For My Daughter Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am married—married. Let
Sunshine fall upon a waterfall,
And let the otters play in her cerulean bosom
That sometimes flashes like a spear
Coming from an orchard
And over the forts
And over the sea—Herald of the fountains
Calling all tourism, like Disney World,
That they should know
I am married—married—and the park is greener
And the little girls swing even higher:
Higher,
And if one should fall, and come out of her dreaming
And into my life—I will catch her
And call her daughter
And watch her eyes like pools with deeper pools,
Like wells that other things have dug
Shrinking and growing larger:
My child—epitome of a heavenly flower
To which I have become the moon,
And my wife the sun.