The Carpentry Of A Blind Man Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Boys as pretty as baseball spume words such as
Gas jets-
And open their pretty chests to the mornings of their
High schools-
Daydreams on Lilly pads underneath broken down school
Buses,
And we don’t belong here, but this is my plan:
To catch you for the first time:
Away from your husband
And your children, that I suppose you already have,
And to take you to a park
That the lovers are just busy constructing, and kiss
Your hand, bending to it in the arcs of
Our recess, while promising to you from the bottom of
So many open wounds-
That I have found you- and this is our castle,
And it may not be forever beautiful,
And it may not be able to surmount death: it may only
Be big enough for one home,
But it will be our place- and in it only we can echo:
And that is why I lay here, trying to built
It up, like the carpentry of a blind man- not trying to
Elude you are to fill you with empty promises-
But to do just what I can,
Even as you turn away, taking everything that I have promised
With you.