When The Sun And The Moon Are Down Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sunlight mottles through the blinds
Of another day;
Yes it does, as if at the hospital; and old loves
Never weep,
They just turn to the side,
And we forget words and thoughts:
And the thoughts we don’t know are the words
We’ll never have,
Words of other countries, of knights young an
Old defeated by the basilisk and his frosty
Witches;
And yet the dwarfs have great libidos dripping like
Fertile gardens somehow three times their stature;
But they are still too dense for bicycles
Or swimming in water that isn’t for children:
So when she comes, they whistle,
Entire tribes of bearded men, and the dragons swoop
And holler. When she comes, they forget their vast
Wealth,
Their weak spots, which she takes advantage of squinting
Her eyes to feel the turquoise feather stretch to her
Cheek:
A marksman, she has many scalps, scaled and wonderful,
And she keeps them at a steady clip as she leaps
Through town,
Only stopping to drink in mountains when the moon
And the sun are down.