Only The Fire And Sunlight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You wear a blue cap but you are not my type—
The rivers evaporate down your body,
And yet you insist that you are going on a fieldtrip
Somewhere,
As the skiers stream down around you—
They only know touch by their tourisms, and
It is not a feeling in the deeper sense of the word:
They have not slept submerged in the
Clefts of your monuments, or been around you
Other than the paths upon which they are
Allowed—I have turned into a foundling upon your
Meadows—resting like a jackrabbit in the euphoric
Roots of aspens and cypress—
Somehow joining both rejoins together in a nest,
As the spiders around their necks catch
The minutest rumors of you—like the tiniest airplanes
Flying into a kaleidoscope of arms—
And they whisper the smallest pilots to sleep
Along the rougher parts of your valleys only the fire
And sunlight have found reason to enjoy.