The Deepest Places Whose Echoes Are My Own Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the good deeds you won’t have to worry about,
Because I am going down into another sleep:
In the valleys of forget-me-nots where the grandest dragons
Tell lies
Into our ears when we are alone; and he is beside you there,
Like a skeleton in his coffin, like a king on his throne;
And your family is in a house of another world sharing
Flowers over dead grandmothers left back in
Mexico-
Who will never know how you had to cross the frontera, Alma,
To find my lips and kiss them, and to tell me about
Your love
Only when we get into the deepest places whose echoes are my
Own, and who say your name.