In The Middle Of The Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the middle of the night I will buy you a house
Underneath the flight paths of airplanes
In a surcease of all of your grottos—in the teardrops
Or the estuaries of all of my art:
I will find you there in my arms,
And call to you as the lamentations of the echoes
Of the Ferris wheels I forgot to kiss you on—
Cannot you see,
This is what I do for you, turning the heavens into
A windmill that keeps on repeating itself—
And in its urban setting is all but found out—
And in the belly of its Mexico, turns and turns for
All of the fools and
All of the werewolves—but up until now I have
Sworn off selling fireworks for my father—
And I would just as soon sleep underneath all of the
Train tracks as all of the heavens—
Until your busied noose becomes a cloud—
And into its spot on apiary we give new credence to
The pagan natures of your adulthood that I am sure you are
To become.