The Slender Praries Of The Darkest Purples Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I saw you calling this way as I gathered the
Sticks for the fire:
The butterflies done licking the sweet sweats off me
And gone to collect their corpses on the other side
Of the poisonous forest:
And the dragons sleeping there like honorary mounds
For dead heroes;
And some where in the middle of that perilous kingdom,
The undetectable fjords where
The slender prairies of the darkest purples live:
Down in their great cuts like anorexic flea markets under
The insouciant highways that the clouds make
While the try to figure out through their adolescents
And their high schools, like your little sister,
What they can fathom themselves to be.