Cradled In Your Shadow Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Touching friends of bodies:
Like snow on apathetic woods,
I suppose I want to be with you
In the crèche of mountains,
Or anyway between you and your daughter,
I want to crush your grapes and
Expectations with my imperfect body:
Or anyway, this is what I want to
Be coming down to your doorway,
Whistling like your mailman,
So we can forget about the power lines and
The airplanes:
All we have to remember is to dropp her off
To school,
And then back to your kitchen and fireworks,
Because after New Years this year,
Sharon,
I’ll have $200,000 dollars, and I want to give it
All to you,
Because I can imagine swimming in the opalescence
Of your color changing vestibules
Is better than summiting Everest,
Or spending my summers at Disney World,
In between the pointlessly shipwrecked middle-classes;
And dreaming of you I find my way,
A pilgrim halfway to Canterbury,
One of the sadder stories Chaucer left untold
Before he died,
Waiting for you to fill me, giving you all my money
Just to swing my dying sword like
Something desiring to be religious
Cradled in your shadow.