Before I Disappear Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The goldmines are filled with random flies,
And the evidence laid still in the prehistory of trees:
I keep writing her, from my sadness dripped into
The eclipse where the rain has drunken the excavation;
And this is nothing new, but now no one reads me,
And the world has moved on in a funny way;
She never thought that she should lose me: she never
Thought of me at all, and now he is open in her lap
Like a new dictionary, even as I think of coming to her
By so many ways, now that I am drunk and so beautiful
As to steal her voice. She doesn’t care. There is no way,
And the bicycle thieves ride away with their new finds,
The spokes of high-elements receding like a Mandela
Through the trees: I thought I should love her,
I thought I had the voice that would carry through the trees
And disturb her even while she was making love,
But now the rain has stooped the bows, and the evidence
Is fat and lucid that I only know so many words; where in
People are driving expeditiously from their suppliant rendezvous;
I have nowhere to go, but already they are cheering, and making
No room for me to leave: There is a new sunrise happening upon
Me, but what have I left to say, before I disappear?