The Delicacies Of Her Auburn Fleshes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The fish tails burn like fires up from my window:
The airplanes leap like a game of children in the sand:
All the stars are tarnished roses:
And Alma lives so near to me that I have walked to her house
And slept atop a neighbor’s roof:
Alma smelled so good today, and I have been to her church where
Her sister was coronated this afternoon,
While all the plants I sell look good under all of the aspects of our
Moon,
And the butterflies whisper straight down to me, gossiping like
Tears to heavy for their paper-tulip bodies,
Burning like crayons of ash straight up from the tracks of her arms
And the segregations of her children into different plantations;
And it didn’t look good- It made me feel guilty,
But my arms are empty of packages and gifts,
While Alma swoons in her husband’s bed right now in a house
That turns right with the world,
And I will soon be driving to New Mexico, just as alone in my world
Mute but urged by the delicacies of her auburn fleshes.