Prelude To That Song Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can sing now that the
Lamps our down, and it is the beginning
Of the next century,
Even if people aren’t ready to say so
And they are leaving their homes and never
Returning,
Because she is still my special angel my wet
Imagination has commissioned to photograph
Leggy and simplex across the pressure
Washed mausoleum
Like a flower fully spread without any shadows
Over her ancestors;
And she doesn’t even know it yet,
But she is about ready to scream.
She will spill her milk, and expose herself,
And the song birds will sing like the bringing in
Of another wedding,
And this is just the beginning of that song.