Dreams That I Cannot Share Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Held the fellas in their days:
Stood straight up inside cars, as if it were
A parade,
And got drunken at the shoulders of pine trees,
As if in the ghettos of a
Baseball game- and here it is- a boda, a wedding,
A way that they slew the witch in her
Perfect night while her children were flying their
Perfect kite,
And the cat sat up right there, and purred into that
Very air-
As if you had awakened from your sleep,
And remembered me, and took me into your heart
From the very deep-
And in a very deep somnolence held me there, and whispered
Into me things of dreams that I cannot share.