Even More Than I Believe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Forecasting this usual loneliness,
So easily displaced into trailer parks where there
Is just this one trailer,
And all these slash pines and the stone nests of
Rattle snakes:
All the lucky rabbits feet are gone,
As my feelings have gone for you, like the hero
At the end of the movie;
Like the beauty in your amber face being bled over
By your lovers candles;
I am not sure of anything, but airplanes have perfect
Armpits:
I have stepped through the stone archways of many
Vanished Indians, hearing the myth of Custer
Translated from their victorious lips, and all my will
Was lost.
I was sold as a slave across the mid-western states-
I passed beneath a better muse in Colorado, and eventually
Was reunited with Mexico City,
Like a monarch butterfly; but in the morning I will never
Get back to Spain: My aunt who took me there is still
Gone, even though she is living;
And there are so many fine houses across the canal
Where all of my old classmates are sleeping, wavering like
A mass of candles on the mowed waves;
But all of their women are occupied, all of their fireworks up
On Saturdays of roofs, all of their paper airplanes folded
Into nodding beds: All the ivy is stretched up to the
Titans and their heads,
And she is in love and not coming down not even for all
My sacrifices of baby’s breath; because she is never there,
Even though I wish even more than I believe.