To Go Around Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Riding upon the broadening backs of
Lushing aphrodisiacs,
As the noonlights spread their petals over the car show,
And the birthing mothers open their mouths and moan
Like weathervanes predicting the holidays:
Until the fruit of their vines disentangles the happenstance
Of the accord of their loins:
And then there is a new face that has to be named,
And the lions petted and tamed behind the fences that the tourists
Barely perceive:
As she wakes up again, marching, the brown skin of my muse
Collecting light and phone numbers;
It happens this way- I can barely get close to her and faces of men
I don’t know, just casual shoppers, get obnoxious:
But she is my muse,
And I call to her this way- the unbeautifying butterfly
Collected by the mute wishes of her translucency of flames; -Alma-
And the entire world happens while I am around her, creating the
Weathers and its calligraphies;
And she closes her eyes and smiles, dreams of her daughter riding
Merry Go Rounds at a fair that hasn’t yet existed,
But to her I promise her, as everything around her happens to go around.