Not Ever Will Be Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the night reciprocates and I can’t
Even believe I am doing this:
I have lied to you for so many times, the sea knows and
She is no longer amused:
The sea does her thing every day, traveling from spot to
Spot,
Just like you: and she only loves one man, just like you,
I suppose;
And now the night turns herself around, and I am not well:
By what hour do you touch yourself, and do you ever wonder
About your daughter,
What future she might have in this vast midnight;
And it is awful, so beautifully awful, and the orchids swarm.
And maybe you don’t even know,
The reticulated cul-de-sacs where I once grew up awaiting the
Ice-cream machines that you are never really attending;
And now you are fully grown and don’t feel the sea:
It just comes boiling up to your eves like a pet,
And you pay it no mind, but keep boiling up the cup that doesn’t
Even know my name;
And now I wonder, Sharon- Now that it is too late, and all the lions
Have bitten through the chain-link habitat you built
For the ski masks of their beautiful moonlight, that you should
Care to be afraid to die before I awaken;
But the sea is so beautiful; and your orchid has never had a need
To know anything other than it is marvelous,
Having created your daughter;
And the world turns like a vase you made of water:
It just turns and turns, and there isn’t any need for any other language
Into its being other than it is beautiful;
And it’s name isn’t nor ever will be, Sharon.