In His Eyeless Rooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Airplane over a rose—over an old avenue—
A place where my parents used to live,
A trailer park,
A used dictionary in the hands of a skeleton—
A cenotaph kneeling to a cross
In the wave,
A blue lion in a cypress perch—
Infatuated with a drifting cloud—
The sun so high over the gems of its burials—
Nocturnal hearts beating in the burrows
Or the shallows,
Waiting for the hours that midnight perfumes—
Waiting for you to come to see him
In his eyeless rooms.