Another Way To Believe In Thus Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I get these words while you were dreaming,
And then the sun doesn’t have to come up over the
Elbows:
and here we are by the same places anyways—
And if Mexico awakens: while then, there she is,
Into a million possibilities of all of her haunts—
And she isn’t feeling so certain,
As this I her death right, and her song has been sung,
And her angels have been flown—all over the armpits
Which were the right places for us to live
Or to remain anyways—and so the accordions
Of our jungles fill—And yet we don’t get anything done—
According to our junk- - or the detritus of our
Most beautiful hemispheres—
While then we happen straight into the happenstances
Of our hallways—and the jubilees filibuster:
And this seems to be the double “b” trust between us,
And then all of us fills—AND the world, all of us fills in—
Prettiest pictures at the nuptials—and another year
Dissolved into her shoulders—
Another way to believe in this-