The Silky Fathoms Of Another Unfolding Story Poem by Robert Rorabeck

With the urge to call you, I fold into a river:
You are smiling auburn
The luxury of an abandoned muse- my faith a scar
Of autumn,
And the wind feels like a luxurious coat around
The used car salesman as he sells
His used cars to whom ever, underneath the overpass,
And across to the sea:
If there were mermaids there, I would know already,
And the light houses have all gone away-
It’s just the auburn bodies, spindled out sweating
A forest who walks across the sand:
Raising her little arms to her little child, who swings
Into her,
Reclamations of a soul which moves into itself with
The silky spasms
Of another unfolding story.