Even Though We Both Yet Breathe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Laughing cenotaph: good fun for
Soldier boys being christened and charley horsed
By the waves;
I walk through dying houses, while my words
Crayon your fore brow like the numbers of
A little girl;
I get mistaken for who I am all the time,
I hang out and chain-rhyme; and the wimpling
Orchards blow like your bangs, like burning sugar
Canes;
And the egrets wake up and make love with the
Herons, and then blow themselves over billboards and
Over silver vines,
And I am awakened and smelled the rummy ants
Running over the cut blades; and everything was
Saber toothed and unafraid; and I leapt from the shadows
Of the forests on either side of the golf courses
And the everglades;
And I ran to you calling to you in the waves which
Were your changing room, and your graves;
But the better knights had already come before me,
And enraptured you and turned you drunk, so you
Were cheery and unafraid, and with your glad children
Summering in your trains;
I used to have a dream of slipping out of my window
Into your dreams, but now it seems as if neither of us are
Real, even though we both yet breathe.