The Salt From That Very Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to know what you owe on your house
As the starfish hold me close
To the ground echoing, and I still do not know
Which horse to bet on,
But stand for hours in front of the mirror looking
At my pretty scars,
And thinking of my muses who no longer wish
To attend me,
And my mother far away in the habubs of
Phoenix, Arizona, hand in hand with her
Husband, like roses next to the sea:
Pinwheels are a franchise in her eyes
And she doesn’t seem to care that her son is
So far away,
As the wolves are reintroduced to the waves,
And thus they tongue forever the salt from that
Very sea.