Like Unsettling Lovers Above The Banks Of Bloody-Nosed Clouds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Castles have strange identities:
They share of themselves under the snow white
Bosoms:
Maybe they believe these mountains are swans;
And I am done explaining for castles
With their heads in the clouds, always up for breakfast,
Roosting with rookeries of sweet princesses:
The hallways of candles flickering like wildflowers
With so many shadows:
All different sorts of flowers burning, each an inkling of
A prayer;
And the pilgrimages leading up to castles:
Through the orchards of peach trees and apple,
Past the pearly salmons’ row in the bow-strings of
Ribbon streams leading down past the buttresses of
Castles;
The ancient things: but I don’t have to explain myself:
There they are purchasing,
And the sweet young girls flee them as if the suitors for
Notaries:
The candles flaming like fields in those narrow halls:
The young girls like animals lighting out on the frothing tide
Of a forest fire burning their ancestry;
And they fall down the hills until it turns green, and there
Are cars leading home to symmetry of drive ways;
And cul-de-sacs: swimming pools like diamonds, and places
To take oneself further away from the castles who
Are now like the gaunt young suitors turned away:
Watching like unsettling lovers above the banks of bloody-nosed
Clouds.