To Settle My Body And Cry At Your Coquina Doorstep Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Like a leaf winnowing for the sun,
I come out and sing for your world:
I run my fingers down the rivers of your brown flesh
While the day plays like a girl in a seemingly everlasting
School yard:
The nights are bricked in red, and you lie down in another
Bed
In a house I have walked to and slept beside:
You told me I needed a new car but I would rather move inside
Of you, Alma:
In that unreal material in the opalescent grottos entered
Through the very fine transoms of your gaze,
Because that is where the precious beasts slumber when they
Do not graze:
That is a cathedral without any room, more important than
A white house,
More successful than a pontiff, and I mean to lie in there
And cure my wounds,
Or I mean to settle my body and cry at your coquina doorstep
Until all I have left is bones.