Into A Bed As Blue As An Endless Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Whistling in a beautiful way that was never really here:
While each of our pets enjoy their rooms;
Even while our daughters climb too high up into the trees,
So that they have to squint down at the pornographies nestling
There:
And above them, the airplanes fly so high and far, like deep sea
Divers holding their breath through the coraling nimbus;
Until it becomes another holiday-
Until the highways end at the amusements;
Or leap over the graveyards, or the flea markets:
And it all ends right here: at your lips, Alma- at you tiny braveries,
So naked and brown:
You could take down any knight: you could even take down
A forest,
Or talk the mountain lions and the wild fires off the backs of their
Mountains,
Culling the tourists to you like promising ice-creams:
And, afterwards, I swear I could follow that charcoal catastrophe
To where there was still some new wildlife,
And pick for you there the wildflowers or the fallen egrets- or whoever’s
Nest had been overturned:
I could become a music box, or a combing shell; and I could whisper
In your ear as I laid you down into a bed as blue as an endless
Sea; as I always do for you, and always shall.