The Most Familiar Star Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Gather your dreams beside
And fall asleep at noon.
Let the sun flood you,
As you are not yet fully formed:
But your hair is white
And today is Easter,
But the words don’t come,
The immaculate profound:
The hidden declivities of women
You work around,
The navels of spring,
The thimble pool of navels,
The opal glasses in soft white gardens
Whose scent speaks more eagerly
Than tongues,
And whose eyes are bound
Upon the flesh of hindered men;
Those farmers’ sons who fall asleep
With the infinity of shadows amidst
The fattest oranges in a particular row.
Sugar cane crackles the next field over,
And alligators move like torpid
Cords of wood in the drainage ditches
You run across to skip out of school.
And the world is not fully formed,
And is hollow without a wife
The seedless clouds torn in the sky,
A cracked pomegranate of several masses
Dripping a colony of fiery ants
Trying to make advances towards
The most familiar star,
But he would rather not bother....