In A Town Of Lotuses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In a town of lotuses,
What does the grass say to the trees—
With you walking across her paths,
My wife—
Weighing less that 46 kilos—
Asking if I consult the stars about you
Sometime in the early summer
While the rattlesnakes are still
Shedding
And the early night cannot get rid of
Himself,
Settling around the tin mailbox and
The cheap flowers,
Considering to itself if it has other
Friends than the ones that can be
Found here—
In the fierce holidays that distillate
Around the ring-tailed foxes
Making a dance toward the moon—
Wishing to call down the marionettes—
All feminine—who have learned to
Dancing without strings—
Like souls reclaiming their shoulders—
Like baby's breath dancing upwards from the graves.