Guiding You In Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The night tries to play catch up with itself:
I have never been in this room before: the house is as
Quieted as your soul
In a low cut blouse- the gossip of the night whispering
Through the transoms of the house like
Sailboats through green storm clouds;
And you were not home, Alma- your shift was over
And you slipped away through the skiffs like paper snowflakes
And butterflies underneath the orange grove cliffs:
The ponies were as quiet as buttercups,
And the ghost of your child lay higher up in the roman ruins without
A flag:
Your children moved like games across the marble,
And I pressed my lips to the soft brown skin that the morning’s
Light stepped in to worship,
As the churchyard sang around you like a lighthouse giving off hope,
Guiding you in.