Our Kindred Obsession Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bodies like matchsticks counting,
The nights that they know are going to be very cold;
And they can only burn for awhile,
Stuck in the gravity of the atolls, trains like silver
Passageways crossing them,
Wind tunnels in Spain: The hard knocks resound through
The parks in the rain,
The swings drip tears from the chains of birds:
The light houses have all been punched in the eye by some
Hooligan truants who have been turning out,
Pretending to be sailors, to be your love
Where I drove by a cemetery today delivering impatiens,
And I said your name; but you had already returned to him
Like a dove,
Like a story book folded asleep upon itself, the way I remember
Looking at you in elementary school
When I pretended to be descended from the Mayflower:
And what were you doing all of this time but making excuses
And getting new tattoos;
But we are both descended from Germany, so we are both
Very insane-
I’ve had so much liquor I cant remember my name; but you
Are so very beautiful like a match burning in the woods,
Keeping a kindle all the light as if could so I could dream
Of my dogs;
And I am not very beautiful, but now my woods glow with your
Ablutions:
Your ears that were pierced so many times for you sailors
All dusky on rum in the leave, kissing your lobes;
I wonder if you even hoped to notice that I was perceiving them
Also in the barrooms underneath the kerosene lamps
Of our kindred obsession.