Wounded Bird Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wounded bird: I hold you—
Now you sing, out of the window
Like a child of my kidnapped home:
As I remember the scars
Of my reflection,
To the soft lullaby of the waves called to
The bedside of a richer man:
That all of this is my plunder without
Sunshine,
In the night when the pools are blind:
And I lay beside you again in the darkness:
Muse of stolen opals
And birthday presents—The Christmas
Trees are in the trash and in the gutters:
The stolen bicycles have been abandoned to
Jewel the necks of canals:
As very soon you will be waking up over
Then—brown eyed with
Browned eyed children, kissing your man
Like glass blown in another world.