The Romantic Cartographs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Everybody was gossiping while I looked away into the
Sea and you came over to my house in the morning,
But you would not kiss me open mouthed-
I will die, Alma, without the mirages from the wells of your caves,
And from the gods that you give me,
And their little graves, while the hounds bask in the cemeteries atop
The open graves,
And the mausoleums are washed anew;
And I give you roses and I dream of taking you to the zoo:
I dream of changing all of my clothes and becoming more beautiful for you,
While the day washes away into the green parades of
The forest rangers who are greener than you knew;
And it is easy, and it is fun to climb the mountains into the places
Higher than you ever knew,
Where I can sip my rum and look straight down on you:
Here is the places in which you have become, with your soft, familiar
Songs swinging all around you:
The cars hustle and they bum, and I have never seen anything sweeter than
Who you are,
Alma, even if you are out all night with other men, even if I am not
Beautiful enough for you:
I create the songs the caracole the amusements of your sad eyes:
Alma, your eyes are so far away in the soft but poisonous sub consciousnesses
Of Mexico:
And there you are playing cards and conquering, and when you look up
Into my eyes, it seems as if the entire stage is lighting up,
And it seems as well that I will live forever in the soft brown love letters
Of your skin that I have caligraphed in the romantic cartographs for you to
View.