The Whispers Of The Butterflies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Down in that chasm where the dragon remains
Nameless,
Wasting another quarter- the willow sprigs buoyantly
Expecting to save another man:
Well, we made love a week ago, but I wonder if
We will ever have the chance to make love again:
The levitations of bread across a window,
The flight paths of the unseen- Still, she levitates
So wonderfully, dreaming the undream-
And I stand still to caress her, my muse of the hapless
Deficiencies:
I stand here in strange unfamiliarity of my household
Waiting for a kiss from her,
Waiting for the ice-cream to melt for dolphins,
As the traffics drive around her world- spirally,
Echoing as if call girls at prom- soon they will be married
And then divorced: soon they will be calling up the
Echoes of their misspent wishes,
And I will follow them like the footsteps of horses
Through the castles where the whispers of the butterflies
Still come and play.