The Moon Whispers Of Bicycles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Ferris wheel, keep me indoors while I sing:
This is my new body-
My thrown on the web of a thumb:
This is the thing I seem to be,
In the glass whispering,
While all of the other lights are out,
But the lights on the Christmas tree
Are dancing,
And I am sleeping in bed with my sisters,
And the moon whispers of
Bicycles,
And of the lost expeditions of conquistadors-
But if you made love to your husband tonight,
I will never know.