The Roof Of The House Again Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Down in a hutch where damp stars pool,
Like heliotrope dragonflies who tried to cross
The cut-up ocean,
Drinking the sharp milks of lactating rattle-snakes,
I don’t know why I sing,
Like a dog excited to get out into the back yard
Where its wild cousins are taking down a foal;
And I upstairs, tiptoeing to sneak tomato sandwiches,
Fresh looks at foreign exchange students open
Bloused with the tongues of their uncanny glades,
Everyone has entered their own loneliness of
Beliefs: She was so young when she started acting and
Fell from the sky, and I am unsure if I am succeeding at
This, but there are only a few sips left and the coffin
Will be dry, allowing every kind of us to float up
To the roof of the house again.