What I Am Looking For Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The day has no attention, nor attributes anything to
It:
The housewives thought that I should begin the day each morning
Starting out filing in the crenellated shadows
Of the sea creatures and mammals
Lost but still hunting beneath my eyes: I think that they
Must be starving in the dimples of sweet young glaciers,
Stacked so high upon themselves, it would be dangerous
To really find them;
And they don’t seem to want to behave;
And I wish I knew better words for them, this fetishism of
My desire they never address in church;
And they have taken down all the spectacular swings to keep
Them out of reach-
There are only black cats in the graveyard, strutting like innocent
Panthers. Maybe that is what they think they are.
Maybe that is what I am looking for.