Fairytales That Cannot Be Counted Upon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lapses in the rituals of her eyes,
And other things that don’t provide anymore
Promises for salvation;
The churches are all tucked in underneath the
Melting snows:
The windmills chew themselves,
And the deltas divide like the winnows of a
Fan,
Each prong pollinated by each one of her
Mermaids-
The fish looking grimly up to the brotherhood
Of her otters,
And it all swims for awhile back and forth,
Telling to itself fairytales that cannot be counted upon.