The Marble Roses Who Are At Hand Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I love you anyways, even if you’ve been cavorting at the
Fruit market with my cousin:
Even if you will blow away, like the flights of airy blue:
After my parents have all but gone away
To their horses:
And I am down in the lonely gutters of my bachelor’s ditches,
Anyways:
And you could never understand my dogs: while all of my
Kitchens clutter, and then you can stand beside your sister
And sort through the strawberries of my uncle’s
First love,
While all of the airplanes get folded in their best ways and
Then fly over all of the shoulders of our churches; and it gets
Really busy and all of the rooms get filled with you
Favorite colors, and your gods seem to sing form all of
The shoulder blades on the rooms of the grottos where
I have placed them, as the dogs run after the rabbits,
As the foxes leap after their grapes,
As the boats leap through the lakes,
And the runaways sleep underneath their swings,
And the dead sleep in their lakes of graves, anyways- hoping
Yet to find the marble roses who are at hand in their luke warm anyways.