Of This Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Trying to shake myself awake like a fish,
Born in the lower regions of the Marianes Trench;
Now I suppose that I am beautiful or that I have to be beautiful,
Because I have come up from so many piano keys of depths,
And now I am looking thoroughly beautiful if starved;
And that I have my own light which should light my living room
To give of two good halos to my two starving children.
But otherwise I should not have to know, or have to look at them;
All of these bodies of men moving around just as they should,
While some other shadows have had to push me around on
The trams of these swings; but it has not been me in the playground
Of all of these needy and heedless things:
It has been you in the shadows clinging and scratching all of this time,
Alma;
And I have been starving all of this time, while the fair has been moving
So utterly far away, but if you have been able to hold your breath and
Love me for all of this time, then tomorrow;
Then maybe tomorrow, we will surface together, me holding the beautiful
Promenade of your head, with two lips whispering, speaking to one another
And gossiping like two wings of a butterfly and doing;
And doing all of this again.