In The Cornea Of A Hurricane Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Whatever beauty there is- you are here now-
Like a house filled with a sad family in an uneasy
Cul-de-sac- that I sometimes remembered you
In- in Saint Augustine-
Thinking from my parents’ basement if I couldn’t
Move there- to be surrounded by teak and
Thrift stores as eternal as you and I-
As you were serving drinks in the cornea of a hurricane,
As the rattlesnakes made their hut around the cured bones
Of a family dog-
With the moon out the same time as the sun, trying
To survive, and thirsting off his light meandering through the
School buses- Well, those days were just as lazy as
You are now- and you can throw a fit, or eat a plum:
But I’ve put a hundred dollar bill in your back pocket
In the cooler where we used to work together for
My uncle: Now never mind the thieveries in their
Satellites- or how they throw their dice over the rock
Gardens where the unlucky rabbits cannot
Breathe- and never mind the street lights over the church
Way up north where we never came together- or the
Highways that took you so far overnight to where you
Lay beside me in another ideology across the train tracks-
But let me kiss your auburn limbs- and buy you
Chocolates and roses- and let me call you my muse
From time to time, as the waves don’t care about dying.