Cried Your Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You wrote me today
(Oh, how I count the times,
Though they are very few)
The little lines you seem to pull out
From absolutely nowhere, the kites
From your mind in another universe that take
Off and reach me five states over,

Traveling along tree-line graphs the dizzying hills
By day, and the somber and perfectly flawed
Mirror of sea by night,
When your hot tears swell the effervescing
Combs of waves,

And a ghost of your shadow lingers in
The ebbing flow, a liquid spider-web
Of anemic veins

Sheets of the lightest metals,
With your eyes’ patina, dragging like
Golden filigree your angelic guts
That touched everything they could
As you sped toward me with a revenant’s message

Because you were concerned on how
My words were arranged for you,
Like some cheap bouquet torn up all of
A sudden from the weeds
and thrust toward you, as if I
Was peddling sex organs gathered off
Strange women walking the streets,

But I told you not to worry, dear,
Because at the edge of my red precipices
Out here in Arizona, all things are born mad,
And I haven’t though about you 365 days a year
And those arranged like a dozen azure horse-sized roses
With saw-toothed thorns that tore open my
Veins and 4380 times cried your name….