The Moats Of Your Yard Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Awakening us in the cradles and sewing fears:
The highways the lassos of her bridle gown,
The happenstance of movement that can take you all
The way to Miami
With the sun shining down:
And I can still remember you, Sharon, out in the suppleness
Of the green canyons of our wicked neighborhood:
You had friends- I had dogs,
And naked trees, and my corners of the rooms we both
Inhaled;
It wasn’t until much later, across the universities of forgotten
Bicycles,
That I began fantasizing about sleeping under your desk,
Underneath the rudeness of careless astrology;
And I went and bought gas today and set up fireworks tents
With seven Mexicans;
And I wonder if you read me anymore, now that all of my
Sadnesses read for Alma:
A muse that makes love to me, if not love:
And you will never see the scalding parking lots to which
I have lost my mind:
But you remember when I was a wino at sixteen and drank
Bad wine and floated mostly naked around
The moats of your yard-
And pined for you, Sharon- which wasn’t hard.