To Anyone's Homes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Another sunlight going down for the short change
Of a word—
Another daylight of my life slipping down—
The mountains cool from their fires;
I do not know where you’ve been,
But we each have to do this alone.
My wife is in the kitchen walking towards me—
The hibiscus is in its grove, curling over
The concrete—
The feral cats making love on the road—
And nearer the beach, a sword fish stares at a shell,
While the cars honk on the overpass—
There was once a picture that existed over
The absences of my grandmother’s house—
When, for now, the hours keep on piling towards me—
The dogs lick the souls of the fish—
The roads turn around, pilfering for themselves—
And the beautiful bouquets placed on the steps,
And the roads that don’t lead to anyone’s homes.