Our Shoeless Skies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My body still curls up at the toes after some fashion:
Alma still makes love at night and
Sleeps with her husband,
And by this she makes me more unreal while I am still hooking
My jaw on the juices:
I wish that her eyes could see around the unseemly echoes of
My vanished defenses,
And that I was right here in a gilded cloud with a broken wing,
And the rains did answer for my truancies,
And they pretended that I was at some high school and a king:
And that Alma played along through all of the nights together
With her alone at a sweet and lonely petting zoo,
In the back yard of some sweet young mother’s sweating
Pool,
While the night and day turned around in a bed of lovers.
And we learned by them, and cast our lots into the
Sea of their sweat and tears,
And we bled out together, but our romantic passing lasted for the
Length of the years of grandfather as and grandmothers who
Are still in love after all of these years:
Oh, if you would let me kiss you again, Alma, like laying a prayer
Between the hyperventilating wings of a butterfly,
Then we would have our own church and our own grotto
To baptize,
And there wouldn’t be any profession that was above us,
Even the airplanes would fly between the caressing bedrooms
Of our shoeless skies.