Your Doused Religion Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve tried doing better for you,
Even as the sun was old and disappearing
Behind the slats of trees,
Into the autumns seasons which misspell
And do not get up again after they have bent down:
And I have looked out for you against the traffic’s
Flow, and through the rattling shadows from the
Landscaping brushed against the dun buildings:
Somehow they have made it all to hide you,
And everything is more forgetful even as it comes into
Its time; and I am chained and unrequited
And my eyes are brown and so are yours:
They want to move across you lazily and calm,
And give truisms into the loci of rest bowed into your arms,
But already the old are disappearing and the shadows congest,
The sea is leaping and yipping into the west,
And there are better men for you who are breathing in
Their time, and they move about you in the gentle gravities
Of courtship, and the dunes have drunken in the tide
When I would have thought to find you
Where the palm trees stand like a stoical chorus or
Sorority, and move with you there clasped in a coupling
Arc, and to have swung with you in a studious dream,
Until nested in a crèche made from the springy, pealed bows
Of your doused religion.