Her Dry And Ceasing World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words change until the syllables are taken together
And understood,
And I am no longer lost in the beauty of the unutterable woods:
I have come down to the tarmac to watch the big silver
Airplanes descend,
Those who before I thought were imperfect angels
With heavy wings,
Like cheerleaders stumbling to the water fountain with leaded
Eyes
And in heavy bruises caracoled; and I never thought about
You while I was in high school, Alma:
But this is your world, and your lips the homeopathic fountains
For hummingbirds or my over eager dodos:
I spent a week’s paycheck to buy you a silver rosary with
The virgin of Guadalupe the day after you made love to me
For two hours;
It was like you were a lighthouse laughing as she rode her heavenly
Lights across the tattered see, smiling in all of her levitating dresses,
And saving upon the fortunate sailors taken into the cradle
Of her dry and ceasing world.