To Any Room Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Maybe you don’t remember this time:
With the sun going down, and the ponies heading home:
That I cut myself looking at you,
Even as the rest of the people discovered so much gold.
Running to it, lapping,
Cliff dwellers whose dwellings were suddenly filled with
So many colorful pinwheels.
But you were there rippling over their shoulders,
Coming up as a reflection across the maize and the trout
Stream-
Like a good omen in the shoulders of our city,
Our enemy waiting as the zygotes of evil ghosts in the shells
Of silver terrapin;
And it was a long ways to fall, slipping all the way-
Then I was just a wave heading home, eager to be falling over
Itself, and to any room that would let me in.