In A Pretty Unison Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All together in a pretty unison—and you can hear
For yourself—
Aren't you listening: all of you pretty boys for
Christmas—
Isn't this the avenue in which the plane is flying—
And the sunlight starts up its motors—
And now she is stroking her hair a hundred times—
Doesn't she seem to be filing outside of
Doors—
As the horses are running, pretending to
Break their necks—
And the shadows are over—nocturnal accumulations
Across the cricks—
Or painted across the canvases where we were
Meant to believe—
And hasn't this been all of what I've been teaching—
As you shoulders fell out from beneath the
Evanescent wings—
And I suddenly remembered how to spell for you love—
And you have me just the kisses—
The evaporations for just the promises of almost
Anything.