Waves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I could love the waves
As they came upon me with great unconsciousness,
Love the salt of a tremulous embrace,
And the mimesis they return to the sun
As he goes down on them,
The throbbing pain of her blood in the wound,
The magician’s rabbit I palpate on the floating log,
Hyperventilating while homeless men
Fish, and midwives hike up their skirts
And move into her to give unquestionable deliveries:
But if I answered her solicitations, I could not
Return to the dry home where my parents
Eyes dwell on me, where they suppose I am
Brushing my hair in the mirror,
But forever would I know and see her in those
Multitudes, how she becomes even now when I
Have yet to draw the shades and let her in,
For she is too ready to proceed, and this is how
It is, most akin to blood;
Thus I must concede, and let this be a testimony,
For she has made a carriage of this house,
Taking it deeper in, and from every window
The light refracts like splinters, and her whispers
Are swimming from the throat I wish
To enter in with my entire body.