Only So Many Possible Conclusions Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The passions are in you in the words we cannot feel;
And it feels strange to be alive, and so lucky to be next to you,
Alma: but not to be yours,
As the city f*cks, and the ducks chirp:
I’ve seen you diademed with the gold that I bought you, and now
You only wear this:
And you feed me your mother’s lunch, and now it feels almost
Okay to believe:
And I go by myself like the remote control boats controlled
By a strange fate,
So I have traveled so far nearer by goal, that it almost feels okay
To believe:
And I kiss your throat, and I kiss your ankle, and all of you is a
River that moves and laughs in her certain way;
But now you bed down with him, and your brown skin closes shop,
While the clouds continue to make anything above your
Roof where your father still calls your name,
But there are only so many possible conclusions that can actually
Be real.