The Cul-De-Sacs Of Conquistadors Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Epitaph means the words distilled
From the living thing—
As stone lives on,
A cenotaph upon a green field
Intersected by high ways—
The sea cranes its neck,
The otters sway inside
Of her cradles—
And the joy I had for you by myself
With my dogs
While the shadows of blind men
Whistled all around me—
And the apiaries bloomed outside
Of Disney World,
Too sweet for tourists to smell—
As we continue forward,
Banishing our wishes into
The candles that disappear after the
Cake is gone—
Like towns of businesses
Or the cul-de-sacs the conquistadors
Disappeared into,
The necks of their horses blued from
The arrows quilled from
Peacock feathers,
And the teal panthers kissing their
Necks,
As the new world displayed itself in
The nude apertures waiting for
New inventions of motion
And sunlight
To appear after the airplanes had leapt
Across the playgrounds after the angels,
And the littlest of children
Had taken themselves indoors
Still uncertain that any of it was real.