In Every City Of Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am not going to see you anymore tomorrow-
Dancing a thunderous jig-
The same way you have never seen aspens,
Because they don’t grow
In the red mountains of Mexico- and you don’t
Like to read about them
From these words that I’ve already said
For you, and lain beneath the night like a
Cemetery for the stars-
You who don’t care anymore how you are my muse-
Brown and perfect midway of
Daydream hallucinates:
And I’ve shown you where I’ve walked
And patted your thumb like a hummingbird
Does a flower-
And read to you of this joy, and eaten beside you
Out in the sunshine
Where your children will never see us- even though
He has given you marks on your neck
During this time- and you have, finally, gone home
To him,
Leaving me here heartbroken for Christmas,
Writing these terrible things,
And pretending to worship the crow who stares
As if hypnotized at the uncountable and homeopathic
Seahorses that he is sure must abide in every city of every wave.