One Final Time Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can lay here for awhile and survive
Like a goldfish describing, and having won into its bag
The airplanes of Monet:
And the world just turns and turns, losing more of its color,
And getting closer to the blistering lights of
Forgotten comets and their likeminded species: and while
We go about our
Day to day, like a carousel that has nothing left to lose,
All we become in our successive delusion is more and more
Disappointing,
Even though the butterfly house fills up like a glass of
Undecided color,
And the tourists turn out and getting happy until the leopards
Decide to jump their easy cages and have lunch;
And you are always there, Alma,
Swimming bare-chested with the otters, chirping and shedding
Your skins:
Becoming more and more beautiful, and less and less tamed;
And I held your hand that was covered with gold,
Even though I knew I couldn’t ever settle you, or feel the wishes
Of your heart:
You at least slept beside me, and helped me step out one final
Time from the so many coaches of the uneasy dead.