Never Found Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Mastiffs bark and flick their skulls like flint,
Like machetes against bright copper telephone
Poles,
And your sister lives in Saint Augustine where
I once rested,
And smoked the stolen spikenard from a blue
Creche of piggish infants
Until I was alone and in the shade;
And I didn’t even have a lawn chair or a phone,
Just the parade
Of things that used to live in pretty shells,
And the old fashioned conquistadors courting their
Iodized mermaids,
Or at least that was what they were trying to sell,
But nothing lived there anymore,
And it was just the ghosts of failed students slipping
From the shores of that
Beautiful hotel,
Swimming in their rooms and making love for the
First time
Once again happening into many lives filled with
Such glances of longing as to compete with
The sky of stars,
The sail boats wandering beneath them all like the bruised
Lips of lovers, entomologists the lights search for
But never found.