Sealing Her With A Kiss Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Some people are so beautiful after midnight:
I don’t know,
I dispose of my head by the parks and estuaries-
I cannot name those birds,
Or by what avenues I would have found your legs,
Hung over, svelte, paved:
I’ve gone gray, anemic bestial: I am thoroughly
Flummoxed, haunted by your wings:
I belong in a choir of things that died;
But after my emolliations, my ash is beautiful,
The kind they keep to chalk pool halls,
Those homeopathic pewters the pugilists use in their rings
On top of mountains:
Very well then,
Put my remains beneath the barren feet of strange
Little girls, and subject me to their rhymes;
And let the sun strike matches down on my pretty
Little head,
But when you are done with me turn me to the graveyard
Where all the poets live, so I can see my lover,
Just the finest thing- Her words who rejected me,
And she fell praying septic into the earth;
Saying that for a time the sea belonged with me so that
I should go out and pray, and wait for other things to rise up
Into the air by the time school had ended,
And each female was out walking the mowed earth as yet
To go home and kiss their father’s lips.