For A Village Of Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My throat feels like a cauldron of fireworks,
And I laugh in my empty house which still moves like
A zoetrope of coyotes in the woebegone desert:
It still moves like the never mindful carousel,
Because Alma was here today and we made love:
Like a scratched record, we made love:
Like a scratched record, we made love:
And the airplanes flew
And the waves continued
As the airplanes flew
As the waves continued
And we made love until just the two of us
Was all that was needed for a village of love….
For a village of love.