Cloud Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It may have been cloudy
When the clouds sang one afternoon:
They really sang,
And evaporated dryads crowded in the
Ephemeral visions, cried the tears which did
For the allegory of a sun shower:
So light above our blooming heads, we
Couldn’t even tell:
But you came over to me, just as well,
And we studied Latin. I was already becoming
Scarred, and I was surprised when you asked
Me what was wrong, and you couldn’t tell:
I loved in the only language germane to my
Tongue: stuck like a fleshy spelunker to the
Roof of my mouth when confronted by you:
Can’t even speak now, but lays quietly hostage
Against the classroom of my skull;
In the quiet classroom abandoned by an eerie
Tide. The seat you occupied now empties,
Like a liquor bottle; your legs no longer echo,
Laughter no longer fills the adolescent halls,
The language quiets and the clouds pass by as
Casual as strangers who do not remembered how
They passed their tears down to us,
And you didn’t even know.