In Mortal Form Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In Mortal Form



Sullen women, and beautiful,
With no lines in their palms:
Their mother is inside the red tent
Under the swaying palms:
I saw her go in running from the sea:
Crying for her daughter,
The woman of palest earth
Who the greatest god tricked into the waves,
And took her away from the
Earliest forest on the back of the bull:
Her mother is weeping jealously,
And the stars are singing like virgins:
Her sisters are weeping in
The hem of the waves,
Hoping that the greatest god will
Kidnap them, and anoint them
Under his heavy brow:
How can they know that
He is never to return, for he
Was only in love with their sister,
The one of muted form.
She has now swooned into his opal
Nape,
Her feet drag limply through the
Constant waves,
And when she wakes up she will
Be a married woman of borrowed form,
And soon must forget the slender boy
She loved in mortal form.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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