Tombstones Of Their Crosses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dawn cluttered with song birds- cannibals with
Beautiful throats
And torn wings- fighting for superiority
As the curtains rise on the day
Like a movie theatre exposed to horribly
Carnality-
And somewhere in the chaos, looking down from
Broken nests where there now lay
Only bleeding arrowheads- you down
There somewhere,
Riding across an alligator or a rhinoceros-
And you look beautiful, even eating that flesh:
And you make love to conquistadors until
They are cenotaphs,
And you bathe in their hearts underneath the pale
Light and tombstones of their crosses-
The sea a salty sister, with feral whispers, whishing
She were what you are….