The Last Time Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And you will say that you have died
While it rains,
And I will not have a care, while
Another god is blowing glass over
My house,
And you will come home to your man
Over the sea-
And I will have no luck for you,
Not even in nursery rhymes-
And it will be a simple matter that I cannot
Describe:
While all of it continues to be in the
Fevers of the dying sport underneath the sports
Cars-
While for a purple while, it remains beautiful,
Dying beneath the motions,
As witches tend to give their kisses to their
Knights underground:
All of religion defeated but crying up for
Something,
As the ants boil upwards as the kettle:
And the children swing on the swings,
And the waves rejoice- sumptuously, for awhile,
Until they have to return home again and
Explain themselves to their parents-
But it remained beautiful, as it was,
Dancing across the canyons with the colors of
A flag I am sure I never worshipped.
And with a decency that was lost to all of us,
As the Indians faded in the mists-
And I tried to remember the last time the sunlight
Faded across the flowers,
Or the last time I tasted your lips.