The Indestinguishable Powerlines In Your Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of it is imperfect, and I am almost home:
I have been found out to be a girl by the macho stags
With their machetes and flashing their grins
At all of their impossible wives,
Like you, Alma:
Wont you ever come over again to study and hold my
Hand- I think that you won’t,
But I love you, and I love your children, And I wish you knew me
Better and my footpaths through the deep young mountains,
Because I have seen the lower sleeps there of god and his contingencies
Of winged agitations:
I was born on this mountain, Alma, but before this time
I had never thought of or even knew your name;
And my craft is bankrupt and corrupt, Alma, but I would die on this
Mountain for you Alma,
Speechless and emolliate, just to count all the frighten birds weeping
From the indistinguishable power lines in your eyes.