From The Kidnapped Fingers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Despotic world of
All of the loves left behind
Like the shells of
Katydids going to better places
Across the canal
Or underneath the moons,
As the kite slips away from
The kidnapped fingers—
Then, is this a kind of
Song, the graveyards sings to
Its visitors?
Is this a place, a flower allowed
To survive underneath
The playgrounds of the
Oceans,
As the fireworks tents peak in
The desert,
And the illusions carry on
Carrying their fairgrounds into
Movie theatres—
And those places where you
Can close your eyes and
See what has left you forever.