If It Meant Anything Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Palm trees are awakening on the other side of the glass:
There are so many words I’ve dreamed of,
In the language which cannot be communicated to
The commuting species; they are going as fast as
Apoplectic car salesmen out in a storm,
But they are as beautiful as the unripe sky before the
Tumultuous harvest: once settled they will lie with
Those permanent scripts above them, and the fronds
Will brush like careless women resettling their hair:
I dreamed, though, she was entirely bald, like
A cancer patient, who had reverted to her original name,
And yet nearly as beautiful as when I clipped her in the
Bleached halls, until she fell so far away from me she
Ended up in Colorado between the red stones of
Ancient masonries the tourists peruse, and her the same;
And even in my dreams I was too in awe to speak to her,
Though I met her eyes at certain intersections,
But now that I am awake and the traffic flows, and my
Old lovers make love to new calls,
I don’t believe I’ve seen a thing, or even so,
If it meant anything at all.