In The Deepest Houses Of The Deepest Forests Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In my ganemede was a transom; and of course it was in
Outer space:
All of the jockeys took their positions and settled into the dawning
Of another race;
And it wasn’t like this, if it was at all: it was just the silence of
An adolescent canoe going past the emptiest hall:
Because you were all in your classes, and learning all of your things,
While
Alma was kissing the opulent wattage of angels, and passing
Through the bilingual rains:
This is where you go, Alma: this is where you fit into a story,
Where you become the virgin in the grotto for your children;
And this is where you always are burning,
Burning:
While the airplanes pass out and the housewives pass out and all of
The stories they have been gossiping about you finally go
To sleep,
And you wake up and bloom, and the waves bow,
And I can finally kiss your brown lips and seem to slumber as deeply
As a family of grizzly bears held up in the deepest houses
Of the deepest forests.