The Fires Of Your Gaze Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I hold your broken anklet in my arms,
And I drink wine in the penumbra of my very own
Lights,
And I smell the gold that once wore against the flesh,
The way a cicada eventually sheds its other caravans,
And now it is late enough and you are
Asleep with your man: while I am just your other man
On the frontier where your mother once wept for
A month,
And it was amazing to be with you, like a terrapin waking up
In the sands and weeping for its mother:
I pray to your Lady of Guadalupe when I go to sleep and
When I rise,
Alma- you are an untouchable vision in the skies,
That the airplanes break through to admire you at close range,
And when I close my eyes I focus my soul to pinpoint
The spotlight that razes the fires of your gaze.