To Convince Ourselves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Geoding, broking world, awash with hallucinations
And misspellings,
You've come for me again underneath the swing-set
And moon,
Where the ants are crawling through the
Grass, feeling each blade,
Lingering knife of the stars—
When cars move by during the day in strange séance,
Going to the wishing wells of their usual haunts,
And the dolphins play
Cavorting with the shoulders of naiads—
And people work and slumber
In nocturnal parapets:
Outside, race-horses asleep,
And each wave in cadence, coming against the stones
That we have placed here to convince ourselves
That we should remain for awhile.