Stolen Expressions Of Yellow Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Stolen expressions of yellow
Given as Indian gifts from the moon—
Say to your window, "Oh—Now
I know who you are." After you have
Gone away,
And the farm has grown over,
But all of the limbs of the forest over
It are naked—
Even with the cars moving, it is a kind of
A graveyard where the ants carry the coffins
Down to their queen—
And she sits there, sanctified in her gravity—
And the book reads something about her eyes
In the vortex,
The stewardesses who have already passed
Beyond the Event Horizon,
That lies sated like an over-fed mountain lion
Reclining in the bosom of the sinking stars—