Into The Canal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I know there are trophies of what you
Want in your eyes,
But I cannot see them- they say your eyes
Are brown,
But I think they are lying- Siamese octopi
Have inked the fish tanks of your eyes,
And I think of their wolf-like
Silhouette as I sleep underneath the overpass-
Words conjoin like lines on my palm;
And it rains, coming down- jewels and acronyms
Of fireworks-
Of what it means to be here- waiting for you:
Even the cops are sleeping,
And where there is no concrete, the grass is matted:
And somewhere soft and far away,
My parents are sleeping together near the road
That vanishes into the canal,
And from there begins a whole other world.