In What I'Ve Already Said Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Brands are burning in the sun—
The sun light is all but over
The trailer parks—
And even before the show is over,
The moon rises—
It becomes appeased—a collector
Of arrowheads and souvenirs—
And other words I neither dare to
Read or say—
But your first loves started here,
In the valleys of their contraptions,
And settled downwards as
The snow melted and you had
To decide if it was you who was becoming
More or less beautiful—
And you took a husband as your art.
When you graduated, you stopped
Riding the school bus—
And you fornicated in the afternoon
As the tinhorns melted—
And the wild bucks swooned into the
Snowmelt—
And you forgot about the corruptions of
First loves and everything else—
But you remain my sister—
And I write about you everywhere
Especially when I am drunk—
And the moon is hooded
And the muses and wolves are in bed—
If you are quiet, you can listen to what
They are doing,
Or you can just trust in what I've already said.