Reincarnating Sara Teasdale Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Can we feel these atrocities from outer space,
But only alone,

The merit of your soul lies stamped under stone,

Propitious, and legal, and francophone:
This lugubrious marrow I am wanting to hold,

To cradle, and say a word and pet the cipher of
The echoing home,

The places where you must lay down to rest, the
Nocturnal bloom,

And the drooling cusp of the cone which when morning
Will spill silent honey from the tip of the inked plume,

And through the rainy streets you must feel
The throbbing of my monstrosity’s feral will:

To release spore with you around your dorsal fin,
And cuddle in the coral for only the morning of a waning day,

And after the brainless sport, look briefly through your
Third eyelid, regain amnesia, swim away....