Her Knight Of Knights Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It is cold over the highways and over the
Race horses,
And the just born rivers coagulate in the clods:
Entire trailer parks are
Kidnapped by tornados- and the words don’t get
Any richer than this-
A lonely art, a roofless place beside the canal,
Between the sea and the gods in the sky-
Runaway horses stop to eat the apples rolling down
The bank-
Soft shelled tortoises remaining there all day,
Even before and after school-
Her children get home to wonder- and I remain
Outside of her nude kitchen in the clothing of
The sun,
As she weeps and drinks from wishful glasses
Waiting for the day
That her knight of knights will finally come.