Softly Downed Creche Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sharon:
I would give you my house: I would give you my soul:
Just how unhappy are you, Sharon: Sharon- If I could make you
Whole;
But your house is already too beautiful, Sharon; it is burning quietly
With the candles dripped right from the sun-
Your body is female, Sharon; and your thoughts are the institutions of
Your body, and I don’t know any better words for it;
But all I can do is strike out with my two very young legs for it:
I can go past all of the glowing sports of professionals:
How they made themselves to breathe like cattle in a golden summer:
How they conditioned themselves to succeed by the pound in the
Market place of plausible numbers;
But I have never seen you again, after the rains came and all of this started
Out flooding,
And the animals continued as if your perfected symmetry;
And I will make you live forever, Sharon; I will give you a castanet for your
Soul- And you can come in here any time to take off your bonnet
And work your hands into the malleable pleasures that I happen to
Become for you; and
You can sit at your desk from across the room, and if I am brave enough
I can journey across the Mississippi of this dirty rug for you, and lie and
Bask in the pleasures inherited to the vineyards of your flesh;
Sharon- you are a jewel tempting a bird in the burning sky,
And this is your softly downed creche.