The Unwholesomely Sated Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Outside, in that yard that turns blue and green
Dressed in the hours of the lighthouse: there, will you let
Your dreams
Run, losing hands with your spouse, as all day long the
Bodies are on the move:
Fingers and lips you know: touching or hooking on to friends,
Rising up cathedrals from the
Palm trees and emeralds grown obese off the cenotaphs of
Conquistadors;
And in the back of doors, a full garden: lizards and bromeliads,
And the rabbits sleeping with
The dogs,
Or slowly bled- exhausted from making their saturnine rings
Around a little world,
Like a thanksgiving feast set on a table for buzzards
Caracoling the freshly mowed fields, so enamored with their
Beliefs, they are even still waiting for the unwholesomely
Sated to give in.