The Names For Her Prayers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The tulips are all busted, but she liked my
Unicorns,
And these are the things we sing to her after she
Has left my house,
While they are doing more construction at the bright end of
The street-
And I didn’t have to meet anyone else for lunch; and
She stayed so long and played with my hair and the rest of me:
It was the first legitimate love making I’ve had in over
Seven years:
She was a fountain of butterflies;
She left me a painting of elephants, and I broke her anklet but
She didn’t cry:
She just kept on persisting with her eyes,
And the bed moved by itself, it levitated as I told her the names
For her prayers.