For The Echoes Of The Wind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Turn off the fireflies and make
The dragonflies into code words—
Now I know who you are
While I lie here working—
And the subtle temperament of your temple
Stands alone in the student ghetto
Or the parking lots of your high school—
Like a single dog left out after
Christmas with only but a single rose
In his teeth and to his name—
He doesn't know any better—
He has never been in love with anyone
On the other side of the canal
And yet the maidens still go as sleepily
As most river otters-
The banks of where their true knights
Have abandoned them—
And now there is no other echo for
Them—their wind chimes have vanished—
And their true loves have collapsed
Knee deep into the cenotaphs of
The graveyards—
And there isn't much of anything left
Save for the echo of the wind.