Robert Rorabeck Poems

What bends the rivers, or necks down to
Drink-
What bows the sky into the bower’s brink-
I cannot thing of the names that you really
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Warmed in a killjoy of passersby underneath a fountain
Lounging in the lowest clouds of the grass
Trying to be descriptive for girls who have already
Passed by,
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This kind of unobtainable heart
Can only be given by a father for his son to
Eat
Considering the transformations of his lions:
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And this is another sound, a protuberance to
The alert jack rabbits:
The way I sometimes hear the airplanes leaping
A leap year:
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If there are horses leaping through the
Timber of a forgotten house, where are they
If the forest runs like yoke,
As the systems come, bound tightly as
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Forgotten by the ixora where the interesting
Lives-
I walked through the canals and the overpasses
Away from my home:
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Gun of fire-engines
How will you sound while the citrus is yet plucked
And yet round:
How will you echo over the graveyards and pet cemeteries
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Aggrandizing- vermilion,
And now the swans come, singing over
The trailer parks where you
Live in your brown skin- and your man,
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Daydreams without heroes- underneath school
Busses,
Underneath cathedrals: angel-less
Heroes
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Lost in the waves of busses,
And now she is pregnant and the most likely
Parable- well, words anyway:
And she flows through graveyards like the
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