By Both Of Their Legs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In little places of poems
And shadows that don’t have to move unless
They hope to be destroyed—
Just the way I remember your eyes like sunken nebulas
In the darkened bed before I moved
Away and had a child—
And now the places are not so condemning,
And maybe your father will be out of the hospital tomorrow—
But for awhile,
We will remember the hinterlands, and the other softened
Dolls that could only make it half way to Alaska or
Colorado before soiling themselves—
And then in the morning:
Morning—moonbeams and omletts
And other movie theatres that moved away by themselves
From here,
Carried away by both of their legs.