I know there are trophies of what you <br />Want in your eyes, <br />But I cannot see them- they say your eyes <br />Are brown, <br />But I think they are lying- Siamese octopi <br />Have inked the fish tanks of your eyes, <br />And I think of their wolf-like <br />Silhouette as I sleep underneath the overpass- <br />Words conjoin like lines on my palm; <br />And it rains, coming down- jewels and acronyms <br />Of fireworks- <br />Of what it means to be here- waiting for you: <br />Even the cops are sleeping, <br />And where there is no concrete, the grass is matted: <br />And somewhere soft and far away, <br />My parents are sleeping together near the road <br />That vanishes into the canal, <br />And from there begins a whole other world.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/into-the-canal/
