The Beating Heart Of The Yard Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Finding a blind man's destination underneath the stars,
Another catastrophe comes to the gates of
Our grandmothers passed away—
Beneath the arrow-busses and the skies that burn their
Cathedrals—what joy in the emollitions,
Like movie theatres of gypsies across the prairies—
Belly-buttons jeweled with purple ibis
Where sensual dragonflies come to drink, sinking and
Diving away, seeming to come to the conclusion
That you never loved me—
Their minds filled with the choral harmony of insects—
Premonitions and epiphanies that come in the stops
And starts of daydreams or never seem to really
Begin, but go on without ending—
Each one like a locket that falls into the beating heart
Of the yard and all that has pretended to see with
The light of god has to look away.