Hidden Glass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Customers are empirical and their
Holidays,
Search for that special sort of perfection to
Take home to abuse to throw away;
They cannot be denied,
And there is no stopping them,
But with your vision I light the ambergris
Floating in my head:
This is a glass behind my eyes, this is
A chalice: I am its knights errand stranding right
Here looking out at the blaze;
And the weathers will come and go,
And the tourists will pick up what they need.
Even if they saw you they wouldn’t know how
Beautiful you are,
A beauty that echoes like the soft light of
A cave cherishing its crepuscule for as long as it
Could,
Wishing that it too had a mailbox to feel your
Hand,
And your child is out in the park learning to stand,
And I am still right here,
My eyes closed enjoying the indestructible glow
I have blushing in a hidden glass.