The Doorways Of Hotels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What bends the rivers, or necks down to
Drink
What bows the sky into the bower’s brink
I can't thing of the names that you really
Left behind
Starring away in your metamorphosis without
A ship
Or the brown shadow of your man behind you
In that bedroom
Is he tasting your fire again, sipping the ash
That floats from your bangs
Thrashed in the gyring frictions of the summer’s
Hurricane- and I cannot understand it
How I came down all of those steps from my
Office to see you through a window
Threshing trees- giving the softest
Plums to the meaningless puppies
Where they commingled with the rattlesnakes in
The ditches
And the storm whispered promises to all of
Them and brought the angels down in
Fabulous nets that tangled across the doorways
Of hotels, disturbing the residents
From the places they didn’t even belong