The Lamentations Which Bare Her Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The satin cones vestibule over where the pilgrims walk:
And Alma has made love to her man so many times
After she has made love to me:
She probably can’t even feel me now: how I levitated the bed
Over the termites and said a prayer for the conquistadors
And their Indians:
She has probably now been to so many movies that she could
Just sit for awhile in the sweet and velveteen silhouettes of
Starlets and just gaze at the
Magnificent of silicone- She is probably so far away that she
Has never had to sculpture something that would
Eventually die:
Why just look at her too children: they will go on forever as
The creak run like tears in their wet seasons down from
The rocky mountains:
If I don’t see her again, in a month or two she will all out forget
My name,
But I will continue walking down her immortal path,
The vulpine winds stealing from my throat the lamentations which
Bare her name.