To All Of Your Children Of Far Away Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Too many words dulling the pain, making inebriations,
Make for bad poems:
But I sat with you on my swings the other day before you left
Me:
I sat and brought you into my neighborhood
Like a wolf into a virgin’s bedroom: I guess my head didn’t think
Of what my body was doing:
The woodland church where your body moved under the pitch
Of clouds, before you kissed my neck and
Drove away into the overly maddened crowd; and you never
Returned,
But that shadow you stained the coral with is moving here today:
She is a beautiful woman who lines over me like
A crime scene,
While you are back in the warm contours of your folded house
Listening to all of your children of far away.