Unconditional Transcendences Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Going down the graveyards whistle in the
North,
And I am getting too old to be doing this.
For to look into your sweet eyes
Is to consider the prospect of bedding the sea,
Where the caesuras are so many thighs
Slipping back and forth all along what they
Need,
Like waitresses in cocktail bars
Who have painted their nails as they look away,
Whistling;
And you are so far north bedding your time,
And the children wait for you in the snow.
They do not know that this is what they do,
As airplanes shoot arrows in the sky,
And all the other common possibilities, the proofs
Toward a better sun,
And better lines than these:
And mother and daughter in fine transcendence,
But eventually one shall eat the other;
Thus as the first recedes, I will love her just the same
For infinity,
But never does she come back again returning
My unconditional transcendences.