As The Lighthouse Closed Its Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now you have here a blue Cadillac without any
Angels in the carport like a
Grotto,
And your mother is here, barefooted and still very
Young,
On the other side of where your muse now lives:
So if she was still living there,
We could, together, envelop her in an ellipse,
As she considers her two children
Who mean more to her than any of this:
Than any of these promises of romances sent to
Her in bouquets of red wheelbarrows
Cultivated from her gardens of forest fires
Where she seems to live alone,
Her deities hung with fishing line and hooks
From the palmettos and cypress:
Paper angels and piñatas- and I just wanted to
Say that I loved her one last time,
As she drifted from me like the sea from a defeated
Fort, as the lighthouse closed its eye,
And all of the tourists went inside to sleep.