Fata Morgana Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Far above the adobe’s swaddled dung,
Though yet beneath the formicaed solar-system
The care giving mountain squirts
Leaping sunlight from her tit
Like an effluvial stampede of floating doves:
Down, and down, and down
Into the open mouths of the receptive orphans,
So called, they grope her flank,
And climb upon her, the needing pups,
And towards her head they bank
Where the milk flows from the ancient glands,
As from the fountains gating the affluent neighborhood;
And listen as they mew and lick,
And rub against the adopted flesh,
So to her chin they grin and plump
As she lifts up her head and her eyes open
Like invisible moons, and thus she
Gives life to the little things she
Never cared to own.