In The Illusions Of Her Forests Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pantheism in my symbols- up a creek, the birds
Are singing to other birds,
Singing to the weathers of the mountain:
She flies higher than them:
Flies over the schoolyards and the graveyards
And the carnivals of lonely men:
See her now tempting us- look up the skirts
Of her cathedrals:
She is a pretty woman you can get nosebleeds
Trying to summit- perpetuity of her embrace
In the longevity of my scars-
Hopscotch in the cinderblocks of her summits,
Time and time again- void in the
Bouquet of her Buddhism’s where the horses
Linger:
What will they eat but the stones- and I love
A girl from Mexico, as she lingers in the illusions
Of her forests,
Even though our heavens are absolutely the same.