Of Their Habitable Dreams Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Beside the highway the alligators are
Yawning beneath the red armpits of air plants-
And, coincidentally, airplanes-
And it feels alright that they haven’t a name for
These places
That yawn out in the sprawling open:
Places the conquistadors passed thoughtlessly,
As they themselves were namelessly shrouded:
And I love her,
But it doesn’t matter: there she is, already in her
Own cul-de-sac with her husband and
The other various people who love her:
Her children and song-birds as well-
And I’ve slept on her roof, but now that Christmas
Is over,
And I have scars to prove it- and I must go back
To my nameless place beside the road,
For that is my home- In the sunlight of a wandering
Beauty beneath an arc that spreads the curtains of
Daylight and looks down to where
The lions yawn, and her family plays across the sandy lots
Of their habitable dreams.