Of Her Senses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the lights leave the chorus,
And the hills and the bluffs glow:
Strange creature strut on cloven feet;
They are inedible.
The spikenard quivers and seems to hum.
Butterflies metamorphose out of the frozen ground.
I am alive-
I am alive and each leaf is a silken drum:
The doe leap through the sky,
The rivers flowing across the desks in class:
Sharon opens her eyes
And the world flows into her:
Sharon opens her eyes and her daughter forms,
And the teacher conducts her
As she makes creatures out of clay-
Sharon opens her eyes and men play on the fields;
And when tired, the firemen slide back up their poles,
And I pull the covers over my face;
It rains and Sharon’s theatre closes. Marionettes fall in with
The thorns of roses,
And wait for the sick and delicate muse to come awake again
To form us together
As her child plays through a sloppy sky
Where even the snowflakes are indistinguishable except
Where they become unparalleled and utterly beautiful
Across the vision of Sharon’s eyes,
And of her senses.