Making Faces With The Loyal Doves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The world speaks in buildings of piles and seagulls;
And this is how it strikes out to sell:
I have been right smack dab in the middle of a baseball diamond
In the randy mists before school:
And I glorify myself with the names for my queens which they
Will never even think to have;
And it floods, I can take all of the shortcuts back to the arc
And count on all of the animals I have been looking for
To be there,
And her naked hand and both of her children cooing and making
Faces with the loyal doves.