Robert Rorabeck

Veteran Poet - 1,893 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Until There Is No More Heavens - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Golden,
Going to sleep with your brown man-
What apple orchard is this
That my muse lives in? 1, ooo square foot
House,
Housing eight: mother, father- mi vida,
Michael, Heidi-
Her man, Nelson-,
And two teenage sisters in the other room,
As exquisite as vespers,
One about to marry another Mexican in a
Trailer park,
My muse, my soul, saying she is in love
With me,
But that she will never leave them-
That Aztec world in whatever hypnosis across
The canal-
Yards and yards the tiniest in all of America,
And more beautiful-
She drives to and fro from, smoldering in
Shoulders and flesh of
Amber- Catholic, remembering her home state
That she fled north from.
She comes to my house sometimes and
We make love,
Or we do not make love- and I just look at her,
Remembering how she fled into
Me for shelter
But could not stay- so she will be
Gone,
And the seasons will change their inclinations,
And the angels will
Burn candles over the sea
Until there is no more heavens.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 5, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, May 6, 2011


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