On Her Mind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Windows spread over brightening cadavers,
The sun a tourist, a child creeping his eyes up through
The corners,
And the flag pole is raised—
The children have gone home, mollusks to their
Shells—something beautiful remains in a park
For the werewolves and paper snowflakes
And other things that don’t really come wintering into
Night:
The church a blue agate where the homeless
Men soon see their love riding a silver horse over
Christmas:
And they breathe their drunken entities into her bones:
And she rides away into the dark surplice,
Poison in her bosom, another god on her mind.