Holes In The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There are holes in the sky:
How so? But my aunt isn’t coming
Down. I call her with the songs I know,
That were taught to me casually
By the song bird, my best friend,
Before they took her into the mines
To be sure:
Now the rivers swim without water,
But without that how can I be sure:
I haven’t a home, and yet I am living here:
They make a quarry out of her tears,
But she hasn’t cried since they began
Panning there;
And the old men who adopted me and
Carried me on the litter they decorated
With cut boughs and round stones,
Let their beards grow down into her,
And echoed in the bristles of their stir:
Now I am so close to her, that I can feel
Her breathing in her home, but there is no
Light where they make love,
But I should know the way, and walking,
Could take her, and carry her to where her
Wealth would be found and given as the
Names for new children the sky dropped down,
But it hasn’t rained in the camp,
And the pans have rusted, and all the songs,
wilting without lips to sing,
Have sunken beneath the ground.