Bouquet Of Eels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wishes in the daylight as the wounds of ourselves
Spill over,
And coagulated with the nurseries in the afternoons
Where my love for you disappears,
And I find myself alone reciprocating to the echoes
Of the vineyards far away from the mountains
And no longer busied by Christmas:
Just my pitiful art, held to the moonlight in the shallows
And tied by a bouquet of eels:
While your passion finds another chariot to ride upon:
Up and up again, past the stalagmites
And the industrious mines where all of the cherished
Knights are buried:
So, eventually, the mountain gets emptied,
And the dragons, in clusters, consume the fires of heaven
And other pretty verbs that used to be tied up in
Translucent or indigo ribbons in your hair-
As the elephants wander aimlessly, as the airplanes leap into
Air.