Their Incalculable Blessings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You met me with your bullet holes across the
Sea of fences-
Or at least the sea horses were here, anyways,
In the tiny architectures of the
Dear maiden’s defenses- and she fell down for
Them, crying in her lactates
On unsuspecting holidays- they leapt up
And mended her,
Pulling her down into the salts they were
Masticating-
The airplanes roared like the thunder of the racetracks,
As the cars beat in mockery of the waves,
Who kissed her, and changed her into whatever
She was by the crescendos of their incalculable
Blessings.