The Memory Of The Definition Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My queen- My queen of Guadalupe:
I am singing to myself, while you are sleeping with your
Usualest of men,
In your kindliest of houses, and I yet have an ax and a forest to
Clean,
While the green lightest is still shining it vermillionest glean:
And I am all alone in my house,
And I am getting to fat, and I am breaking furniture and waiting for you
To come over,
Because it is yet not to late: I can miracle you, and make you become
Uncontrolled,
We can ride rides at the fair with your children together while the lights
Go out,
While the airplanes there go off in their different directions,
Like fireworks of their choosing,
While the lions on their savannas still burn and molt like fire,
Like the diamond rings around your knuckles,
And while I give my breaths, I also give my prayers for you, Alma;
While Phyllis is in Chattanooga and cant find a job,
While you live on the other side of the airport from me,
While your children are gurgling like sweet wells beside you,
And I call you up and look at your face
Just so that I might recall the memory of the definition of such beauty.