The Darkness Of A Vanquished Hearth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fairgrounds of pretty hearts,
Under the ways of zephyrs I disbelieve,
That Alma has gone home with her two sisters,
And subsides:
Everything in its amusement closes shops,
The waves curl into sleep too:
The dogs and graveyards abate. The buses seem to
Roam so far away,
But they are only mirages, like the airplanes in the
Sky,
As everything is taken down, as the rumors of divinity
Close into their dewy woods,
Up the lost and gossiped upon ways: the hikers disappear
Like old lovers,
Even the streams hold back their tears,
As her lips have gone from the absolved candles leaving nothing more
To kindle and stroke my wishes evaporated from the heart-
Kettled on the darkness of a vanquished hearth.