What Lavender Is Left Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to buy a produce market for her shadows,
And leave myself alone for awhile in its kale of make believe;
I want to surrender to the shallows, and bouquets of
Rich laments spent away,
Dashed to the fences where the broken legged horses are
All given up like an evening of wishes,
Even bled from the supermarkets and Spanish cantinas,
Like whores fed up of love, like pennies spent of presidents-
And what an easy life,
Folding down the corners to this concrete prairie, running off
Into a the statuary of basilisks where all of the used up
Grandmothers are buried
Spent off their days of care giving and kindergarten,
Moving only to take things apart- what lavender is left has fallen
From their berries,
And our worlds are rendered apart.