Her Tottering World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Up into the opposites dawning their smatterings
Of mailboxes:
The lawns seemingly pressed underneath the
Christmas trees,
Entombing jubilantly the long, wide families:
Upstairs and downstairs,
Sleeping with their kites, breaths all filled with unreal
Metamorphosis,
The joys of tinderboxes, and the first steps of little girls
Who break outside and pinwheel to the hiccupping
Ablutions of the speed boat lake,
And down to there the foxes with coy snouts come to drink
Beside knees:
He lets her pet him, while his eyes quiver like the
Fata morganas of red saddles; and she cannot speak,
But he never says a word,
Preferring to let her minimalist actions, and those of
Her tottering world, express his joys,
His eyes aflame as his tongue is panting.