Over The Featureless Graveyards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Glistering in the shadows of the pools that
Have stopped entirely and given up or not even thought
Of discovering themselves,
Where the heavy brown bellies of the fish escaped from
The plastic bags of the midways of the fairs
Of my heart
Come together in a marching band of opposite sexes
And make love;
Alma, as I would make you, pregnant with the liquors of
My spirit,
So that in our thoughts all of our hidden places conjoin
And mix around,
And somehow metamorphosis in your womb into a creature
Of our own forgotten expressions,
Until she is born and steadily grows like the didactic magics
Of so many fables,
Taking us straight up to the immaculate heavens to show
Us in the pantomimes of zoetropes, in the zeniths of the lessons
Of our tamers
Who have us jumping through fire,
All of the other expressions the angels leave like teardrops in
A sun shower over the featureless graveyards.