Making Belief Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dogs as yellow as my house, swallowing for goldfish:
Timber on the brine of mountains:
Opal around her neck- words carrying the hope of sailors,
A witch in the sky trying to kidnap a little girl,
And the sweet love that becomes as round as a baseball after
Midnight:
Lesbians in the sweet canal, making love to alligators who
Refuse to cry:
It seems as if we’ve been called up from here, metamorphosing
With the rest of our class, off put by
Their joyful opalescence, their sound orchestra, the birth
And the Christian names of all of their children
Who go home together from the bus,
To their soft grips, happy with the way the waves remember them,
Singing nursery rhymes to the front steps of their grottos,
And making belief in all of this.