Like Fattened Lizards In Your Body's Song Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Windmills disposed to know they are necking,
Like flowers breaking themselves,
Looking up with glorious beauty but no wonder
In a hillside of towns which is desirously
Helpless;
And you are there, plutonic, with eyes like the minerals
Of blue jays,
Your children with popguns and candies too beautiful
To eat:
The traffic swims and your lips move, and I try to
Match them
In the hemisphere of smoking cannons,
Heavily breathing; I have never touched
You unwontedly, but I should like too:
Upon the swings that always move predestinedly;
The song I put off to you, like a lucky curse silly kissing
In the palmettos;
Like the still life or pieta of an unsunken grotto,
All the proof I need in the absolute absence of shadows in
This courtyard;
And I am underneath you, like a cat purring while the
Stones are basking like fattened lizards in your body’s song.