If I loved the svelte aphorisms and I drink more <br />Liquor then who will save me now <br />While Alma is at her own house making love and <br />Caring for her children. <br />While all of the rabbits I told her I would save have already <br />Disappeared, <br />And the birds have eaten their seeds but they still are hungry: <br />My house has termites, <br />And I am a poet; <br />And I breathed inside Alma’s car today, but otherwise <br />Who has the will to save me <br />Or light up my Christmas tree while the words <br />Are going down to the bottom to sing into the abyss of joy: <br />Like the incest of a hero with his forgotten bride, <br />His sister of the cataracts with the blood of <br />Dragons, <br />As they are tossed over like coins in a whishing well <br />For tourists, <br />While Sharon is in Colorado just trying to survive, <br />While Alma is right here, in a house she loves more than me, <br />And the balloons are drowning in the sky, <br />While the butterflies and mariposas fall to earth like gasless <br />Airplanes and dragonflies <br />Who touch the corners of my yard where they drown <br />Like diamonds in the peripheral visions of <br />Her tearless eyes.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-tearless-eyes/
