Quietest Of Songs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words pinioned to the ciphering holes of eyes
Into each all of our bodies swim and we can perceive,
Even while the night is dying,
As day’s mother grieves; and it is all false, but to this
Beauty we fling like fire going along its lines,
Like school busses speeding to get to school on time:
I have thought of you here:
I have bled alone all of my life for you here; and if you saw
Me today, you would not wonder anything about me,
As I would be common to your senses: just another opposition to
Your sexes; and maybe that is why I have fought so quietly
For your flowers for so long, even while another man
Has won you, laying the senses of his body nice and long
Under the caesuras of your privileged mountains:
I lay my feet nearer the torpid canals:
The traffic of tourists bugles hunting commonly above me,
While I sing and sing to you my quietest of songs.