The Nakedness Of Meaning Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Nakedness Of Meaning



Words huffed from a quiet man’s body,
Like cloudbanks in their syllables, come easier, like
Love,
With liquor, but now I fear I should not drink unless
I lose my soul,
My Alma on her breathing yard, if she is even there;
But I have my green virgin in the soft
Green of my foyer,
And I still pray that if I keep repeating these words
For her,
Like enamored continents filled with children laughing in
Recess,
That she might reflect the beams, and kiss me as quietly
As true love’s dream hidden by a shield of
Cars,
Defeating all of our impossible monsters, and finding out the
Liquid gold of tongues as if panned from
A river of fingertips like the boughs of fruit trees basking in the
Sun,
And all of the nakedness of meaning that never has to say
Who we are.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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