In Which You Have Never Sung Nor Been Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They say that there are dolphins floating through
The timbers and the trees:
They say that they go there for little girls who kiss and curl
The lilacs as they color;
And they stand taught against the limbs of the verdant lumber
Who seems to cradle them like giant mothers:
And I think of her beneath these wild and coned conifers:
I think of her from the lips of mountains
Combed with cliffs of burly stone: I think of the men who were
Lost into the brilliant stratospheres who she still hopes
Might come down,
Even if there is no hope: and I hold your hand and pray to you
From the resounding basins underneath the schools of
Stars in the bloody nosed plateaus in which you have neither
Sung nor been,
Alma.