Zeno Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Everything that is born
Moves from the earth,
Crowds for the sun,
Sings on the swings.
Has a favorite color
And a way of getting around:
Legs, flagella, or roller skates.
Wants your lips on
Their lips,
Is tortured by the motivations
And the expanding beauty,
Writes notes to you
In class,
Whispers to the sea,
When looking up,
Is mystified by the aeroplanes,
Goes on fieldtrips
Works in factories
Lives in trailer parks,
Can’t remember the last time
They touched,
Or came across eyes that
Said they too wanted to touch.
Made a movie
And the whole time in it
You were walking away,
Went over the bridge three times,
But each time a different color
And a new sound,
Though you never changed,
The country changed,
Birds migrated,
Neighbors moved,
Relatives passed away:
Committed a crime
Went to prison,
Then outside again with gray hair
And a new name,
Saw you there shimmering on
The street,
Any number of
A manner of things:
But still the same,
A girl I knew who went
Jogging by my red car so long ago,
Then there you are
Making love
I never knew,
In the rain coming again,
Or are you just passing through,
Even so it is the same,
Every word belonging to
This place:
Your eyes
Your lips
Your name,
This thing I see,
You know,
Nothing changes.