The Stem Of My Heart Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Word is a bud blooming the stem of my heart,
But I don't know how to play music and
My wife is already here—
We almost lost he baby and last night we made love—
There was a little blood and I had to apologize,
But above us—airplanes, and at our elbows,
Baseball diamonds—I am not sure I have any muses
Anymore—
Tonight there has to have been two or three
Sirens—the werewolves who are already too heady
Sleep beneath the nocturnal jasmine,
And my shadow walks the shadow of my dog—
When I look up after my wife is already asleep,
I can barely make out the far away heavens,
As stewardesses skip across the earth like your
Vanishing birth stones.