Spindrels Of Cornucopia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Risking the subtle night,
Kings and fish go to sleep,
Recognized or eaten by every man who
Comes along,
Death stealing their gold
Or anything that might be of value.

In autumn, not far away from the shipwrecks,
On the little beach they hold class,
The girls and the clams,
Trying to sing to one another,
Trying to make some money—
Ones with lazy eyes and ones with pearls
In their mouths:

Both of their orifices are opened:
Creches for little children and jewelry:
She swings her head back in the windowless class
And her insouciant presence performs to
The little boys around her—

She is at home in her mind:
Spindrels of seashells and castles
Cornucopia the forest that no one else can see:
She is failing out, but to her each day opens
In Spruce and Fir and Evergreen:

She is her own god and mine.
She excites me in my sleep. I ride my bicycle perpetually
To find her outside of her window,
The cats on the roofs and the moon having my back;
But time proceeds to tell it tale
And now even the beautiful girls are too old to stay
Up late enough and listen.