Inside The Religion I Had Given Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They swerved by the coliseum mostly disrobed
From the zephyrs- in their chariots of old drift
Wood,
And castanets of roses: it didn’t even matter that this
Was the way that they were going;
It was just their thing: proceeding the lions and
The Christians who ate up the main events-
They didn’t even have a plan,
But they all held soft turtles and doves as pets,
And maybe they were headed towards the mailboxes
In hedgerows fathered against the primordial lighthouses
Or sucreased by the moon anyways,
Though if they’d held still for the moment of a photograph
They would have seem me carrying my young Alma
Like a amber cenotaph into the waves; and kissing her
As she perfectly trusted me, so I seemed to bask
Inside the religion I had given to her,
Even though she couldn’t even swim.