To Dream Of Where You Really Belong Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What falls here is not footsteps- it wants to be
A beating heart: what lies here, without the eyes
To perceive her- it is the thing that I want: it is a way
Home through the darkness,
And candle that does not diminish and comes back to
Life after the wishes of her birthday:
It is the thing that I have been so insouciantly practicing,
While the ice moon of Ganymede keeps the secrets
To herself,
Like my mother before my last sister was born,
Out barefoot in the carport on Haverhill before it was paved
The rain storming- she steps on an open extension
Cord and is badly shocked, and it is here:
The first time I see her fall to her knees in pieta
Weeping not even for a child, that I want to think of you
Alma to put you in my bedroom
Underneath the heavens of a ceiling fan, and to turn my
Senses around across your brown skin-
And to kiss you in the secret places beneath the busy traffics
That cannot even begin to dream of where you really belong.