Groggy night in your estuary— <br />I can still hear the Mexicans trying to sell some <br />Ice-cream <br />In the afternoon after church on Sunday— <br />And it is all a miss—the graveyards are dancing, <br />Your knights have chased off <br />After their witches of another Christmas— <br />And the baseball fields lay out all <br />Emptied as an archaeological dig after a rainstorm: <br />My muse has hung herself like the <br />Heavenly ornament in the living room <br />Of another man she cannot possibly love <br />Because she happens to love me—and this <br />Is the end of this—nightmarish serpent devouring <br />Herself throughout the swing-sets of eternity: <br />As the day in its life goes: <br />Candles blown like paper airplanes across the canal: <br />And the boy whom we have known as Jack flits and <br />Leaps, doing all of his tricks without so many <br />As one single love possibly being in his heart.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-single-love/
