Up Into His Arms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have new desires as I lay alone in the
Same old bed- and the weathers proceed overhead:
Whipping the soups of their tendrils,
They gone forever happening bringing sadness
To the books of the word- and the girls
I dream of mark me like beautiful scars
The rabbits travel towards as the lions yawn:
The words of crushed hemlock, of crushed
Songs- and I do whatever it takes to move
Up again, like a pony laughed at by jackals
Upon a highway that never ends- while she
Has won a prize, a blue ribbon,
And her saddle is as silver as it is golden:
And she gets up into his arms, feeling so light
That she might fly away-
She swings over my grave as it rains,
And she does not listen to what I cannot say.