Like Another Animal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the day yellows, it sings to her as it curls up,
Winnowing its airplanes who are coming down
Like whippoorwills of dreams
To fasten to her hair, and sing to her of secret springs
With epiphanies of animals lapping there:
They are all there, like a zoetrope of astrological signs,
All the possible loves of her life,
A rest stop up in the woods my mother took me to,
And never once while I was there was I thinking of her:
This new girl, this thing or muse that I have made
Love to for these last eight months, who sings to
Me from so far away and then, like another animal
Migrating with the sun, and happily distracted from her
Way home, goes out of her way to put away my fears,
Coming over after it is almost done, and makes love
To me.