The Roof Of His Mind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is how they helped the scores of the word,
This is how the swordfish and the seahorses tangled in
A ballroom of kelp and sunken heirlooms;
Or this is how it never happened, how it all drunk alone
And got hardened and set out on a quest:
This is how the dragons ate their heroes and hen glutted into
The west;
Or this is all of the words that I could never sing:
This is the youngest of girl-children I somehow couldn’t save:
This is the Easter egg I could never find,
Or this is just the dying butterfly in the forests of Mexico
Who has made it so far only to be patterned like a deciduous
Leaf to finally know that its poisons could do it no
Good and that it must be buried above the earth and to be
Forgotten with alma, with his very soul being stuck to
The roof of his mind.