In Her Remembrance Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tide moves out, breathless,
Leaving us time to smoke in between classes:
Moving up, apexes—
Then I’ll have to return to a school that is
So far away from her caesuras:
Listen, mannish boys—as we smoke: what does
She sound like to you? How many
Mermaids can we count in the rhythms of her
Sounds: pretty echoes
Engulfing tears—or other words meant for her—
Entire trailer parks of her cessations—
I wonder if hers is an easy rode: most of her daughters
Lay forgotten—business of her nebulas
And areolas: we can watch her for only so long,
Before we must carrying ourselves indoors
And watch the television:
But she is always there, riling in her business:
And though we will lay forgotten, she will come to
Our tombs and overpower us in her remembrance.