The Butterflies Who Are My Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am wrecked:
The ship folds down to the green bosoms
Of mermaids
Who do not love me, but enjoy what I have
Brought for them
In the rain drenched mascara of my water coloring:
I am playing with the eels;
And I no longer dream of
Conquest:
I am the vanquished sailor blind to the lights of
The lighthouse
With all holidays turned off:
The anchor is my heart- the butterflies who
Are my soul float like oil in the
Moonlight,
Wishing that the heavens would bleed a fire
To burn them away.