Transoms Of My Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How it was that you have a family I don’t
Know,
Maybe it was that you had it while you were crossing over
From Mexico;
But this is my pledge, my Hibernian fire,
My paper airplane torches,
My love crossed bird on its wire: Alma, Alma; alighting,
Fly:
I give you the promise of hope- and I stab my heart and die,
I die:
Or I hang myself inside my yellow shelter, while my
Bromeliads cavort,
This is the last report of my heartache, and the palpitations
Of my ever beating percussion:
Sometimes the sky wants rain, and sometimes the rain wants some:
But I followed you all the way home from work today:
At least all the way to Cherry lane, and almost all of the way
Home where it must happen that your two children
Were blossoming;
And it was some kind of Technicolor dream, caracoling on its
Merry-go-round, making fun of nothing:
Your eyes so brown and wild, filled with a sea of zorros:
Holding your pin knife, you cut the ears and heads and hearts
From the day old lettuce, until you looked up and saw through the
Transoms of my days: my heart my soul- you let off and sucreased:
Together we were made whole.