In The Utter And Unbounded Surreal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I have really felt the worth of my dreams:
They were first golden but they soon grew into your green,
A-,
And I cant help bragging of you:
You told me that you don’t like going out into the sun,
But you came from that dry country in the elbow of another world
So far nearer the Equator I can only imagine what it
Sounds like:
I think that I want you for a wife, Alma, and this time I think
That I cannot help getting what I want,
Because I have your patron Saint on my side: The virgin of Guadalupe
Has woken up and rubbed her eyes:
She likes the fact that her imagine is in the last window of my car,
And that I have two candles burning for her right now:
And I colored my hair for you tonight,
Alma- and on Wednesday I wish to buy you lunch, and I hope I
Can work your aunt Mierna’s shift again, so that I can give her my pay
For more of the jewelry from Mexico that you like
To wear;
And I am aware of your inequality, Alma: I am aware that you are
Far too beautiful for me,
But I will use my tricks and my witchcraft to carry you through
The staunched hibiscus and all the way up to the heavens where
The dragons and the other heavy beasts are breathing,
Because even though I didn’t hear you come,
You have come and you did prevail,
And my twerps of penmanship are all so busy humming, and trying to
Carry your melody,
To lift you up from the rusting hinges of this mundane and diadem you
Forever where you belong: In the utter and unbounded surreal.