The Nameless Palate Raining Again From The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You said all of this while cavorting in miss-behavior.
And the shells at your wrists where little things live
Wanting to be bought by so many tourists,
But I am remembering that I had other dreams too, in gardens
Not fully formed, in houses underneath other even more
Beautiful rain storms: dreaming of living at the end
Of a cul-de-sac in Saint Augustine, before I’d even
Met you or bought gifts for your children, the sky divulging
All of her wonderful thought in sad stories to my backyard
While the airplanes bloomed rather gloomily in the crooks
Of cypress- the conquistadors gone into limestone,
Their bones flutes for centipedes and the ghosts that they
Bring with them for whoever and forever riding the
The legless spines of serpents while each blade of grass whispers
To the nameless palate raining again from the sky.