Sommeliers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The sad sun sunk in the south.
The miracle devils bought a new house;
Their eyes were bluish like throats of courting toads,
And at night they perambulate the dark curling roads,
Peer in the jeweled lips of tillandsia, the spears dripping
Red,
Then home again to make love in bed....
While the pines shush them like long, sturdy gentlemen,
The lions roar beneath the onyx heavens,
Cats climb the pyramid roof, tails swishing seven,

The sea lapping the docks of mussels fifteen minutes away,
The clouds billowing upon a dreary rain-day;
They lay twined in the sheets like pieces of opal yarn
Snoring on the second story where the doors sway like drooling jaws;
Out in the dewed yard, each blade of grass is kissing
The napes and the backs of the fallen angels,
Crying in the mowed sheaths, hungry again for a shunning home.