Love Letter To The Wonderful Absence Of Everyone Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am one of a species on this block,
Have been so for three decades now,
And the sun is the watermark on the fold
Of a blue envelope, or even more profound
An unending escarpment thatched by blue
Herons; their wings perpetuate the serenity
Except when there is a storm, and from where
They matriculate across the two hemispheres
For so long that they have seen both conquistadors
And SUVs, the men beneath them scuttle for
Gold, in and out of doorways of constructions
Which give them definitions of borders, and rooms to
Unclothe and make-love openmouthed, or eat
Eggs sandwiches with tomatoes and mayonnaise,
The females of their species reposing in silk, lie
Like fauns beside ribbons of suburban chalk, some like
Lawn ornaments, paint themselves and augmentations;
Everything works out under that cerulean canvas
Which is forever floating like a misappropriated
Verb, running on the fumes of restless oxygen, and
This is just something else to put down beneath it
While I am alone, a pantomime of beauty, a love letter
To the wonderful absence of everyone, though
Understanding that starting out from this point if
I continue walking and swimming I will revisit the places
I have been; I would walk through the tumultuous floods
Of humanity, and their honking courtships, their
Decisive exchanges, and the botched murders under
The tresses of amusement; but would I ever see her eyes
Again, or, if not, would it be right to assume that they
Never opened upon me, but lancing off the waves refracting,
And somehow escaped the tealish canopy, or hung around
In twilight and nourished upon
The body movements of a man with dun colored eyes.