My Most Limpid Star Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As I drink my song, I become as immortal as any
Cherubic man out on the lamb counting is pearls and swinging his
Ham:
That I have escaped from the pallid banks where the ancient
But also most beautiful misconceptions starve:
That I have tied bows over the presents of your body in this world,
Alma,
Is a glistening and special prize that I breathe: even though I have
Never counted your years necking with you in the gazebos;
And even if my artwork is flawed,
It still bears your name: and my love is unrequited for you, and we
Put our fires together just to blaze to get a better view
Of movies:
And maybe you will bare my child, as I cry out your name through
The drunken windows of the pointless multitudes,
As the landscaping blurs into chicken coops, and then the forest runs
In shaking its naked limbs,
And we sit for awhile on the promenades of my high schools and colleges
Where you have never been- you then are coloring in the gaps of
So many séances that I had gathered searching for you;
And you have become my brightest student, and my most
Limpid star.