The Blue Lights Of Their Tears Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Airplane up in the sky, where do you go
Now?
Do you go into her bed, bringing her flowers-
Do you leap into her window
Like some kind of saint or Jacobite;
But it really seems without
Reason
As autumn approaches, and green apples
Are on the tree-
Where the lake is as peaceful as a graveyard,
And you are returning home to him
Time and time again,
Until Christmas trees are stolen from the hills
And estuaries
Lining the backyards of the unspoken for saints
Who glow with the blue lights of their tears-
Until it is morning,
And another dog cries.