Her Unopening Door Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Beautiful words stricken like matches given
Over to the weddings of a graveyards:
That is how far a field we have flown, and how little we
Matter:
The hollow bones skip the classes in the sky, but
Even they come down in time,
Like wishes in a bothersome well- downed like pennies
In her eyes- like firetrucks saying their good- good byes-
Never more hoping that we could
Get ourselves to her in time- a harvest of barren shoulders,
She avoids the ladders of forget-me-nots we have placed
Underneath her high strung boudoir,
As the waves of a forgotten memory lap softly,
Caressing at her unopening door