Just Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The day burns its yards: oh to the day,
Of magic books and the sixty degrees of vision
Given over to my brothers of this
Mirage,
This great blue desert harassed by grizzly bears;
And you don’t know all of the things I’ve
Missed,
The insurmountable figures of antiquity’s greatness
I have been too unmindful to pronounce:
I just took the tracks one time to get to your grandmother’s
House;
And she was so beautiful, opening the door:
She could have been your twin, and you were placed there
At her feet like the resolution to a needful fable;
Somehow a trinity in your bisections, a perfect symbol:
One woman embodying all three,
While the night leapt long and occidental filled with the
Esoteric gardens where I still know you exist,
Like a virgin weeping down blue eyes across the bosoms
Of two estranged lovers,
Bringing them together like the deli meat in a sandwich,
Your neck and body like the vase of a pear,
Which makes the fox to jubilate and leap with grins;
And I am the fox,
Sly enough to know what I am leaping for will always be
Just another nip beyond the lessons of my reach.