Their Homeless Tears

Airplanes like school buses leaping above my house
While I hide deep in the burning armpits of these palms,
Listening also to the roaring of lions,
And then to the pedaling footsteps of housewives returning home,
Arms filled with so many packages
Until they can finally let go, as pale as the sheets of ghosts
Relaxing in their air-conditioning,
Into rooms like mine where I would like to bring Alma and
Make love to her through the flash and rattle of the
Rainstorms that come over the places such as these
And leave their homeless tears on the soft green bellies of
So many leaves.

by Robert Rorabeck

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