The Brightness Of Everything Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This might as well be the nursery rhymes of your children:
Alma,
We have already made love, and I am a good man-
I am already below my station, while you are kissing the
Forbidden gods and their acrobats,
But another word I have been struggling so hard for escapes
Me;
And maybe because I am again the greatest of celibate fountains,
While Sharon tramps home to her longest legged man through
The sincere and heavy snows:
That is what she does, Alma, if you will allow me to describe her
To you:
She is a sweet athlete who is also an artist who knows how
To sculpt and kiln clay, and that this the word I meant to say
To you,
Alma: she is something that neither of us is not, Alma:
Athlete, and maybe given enough time the both of us will starve under
The sun and the moon, while the mirages of the desert multiply,
But otherwise maybe we will make love for another time,
While I send my otherwise hopes out in another bottle:
Maybe Sharon will read this, Alma: maybe she will have something
To tell her sweet child-
And maybe you will read this Alma, maybe you will like my
Another attempt to captivate and tame the unexplainable reasons for
The blooming graveyards of my love,
For amidst their grinning tombstones hold the brightness of everything
That I have to live.