By The Knowledge That What Is Unreachable Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of the different gods have the same love,
And hold to it by the metamorphosis’s of the day: they go along
The racetracks of the dogs,
Or of the milkmaids lying golden headed in the hay:
They have been gone so long, that we have become latch keyed:
And just look at all of the minuscule folklores that we’ve
Had to bleed:
But I found you today: you knocked on my door, like the secret
Thrust of a genie wanting to breathe again in the outdoors;
And I have walked beneath the prominences of opal stone,
And I have wanted to kiss you and hold the brown flesh
Over your bone: Alma:
And I have: and I have, and I have held your troubles next to my
Chest,
And I have seen halfway into the secrets of your eyes,
But the rest of you I will never know, like a creature of its own
Limited element,
This is all I can believe; but I swear by the knowledge that
What is unreachable in your tiny body of flesh and soul:
Alma, Alma, is infinitely more beautiful.