By Which The Fires Came Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Troublesome mind make the fingers play
Giving amusements as tall as fairies
To her glowing, entrepreneurial eyes.
When the tornado warning is over in
The middle of the day,
And school is over except for tomorrow,
But then for good—at least for those
Such as me—
What reason is there but for the tripwires
Of dusk—
The shed skins of crepuscule over the
Mailboxes,
And those that light the zoetrope are put
Onto the back burners—
And foxes, long tongued, turn toward the
River,
And she to the forest, trying to look
Back up at the mountain at the scars by which
The fires came.