Tables Of Midnight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Some charm in the amusements of
A surreal peninsula-
Some unction the dragon has drunken beneath
The conifers,
As the trucks are slowly toiling up the mountain,
As I sit at the porch
Of a lonely church,
Never forgetting how I’ve loved you,
Even after you’ve born one child after another-
And I am back here,
And you are in your little shop in the bosoms
Of those mountains-
In the cloisters that lay peppered from the
Freckled heavens:
And I remain, contentedly trapped in the essences
Of your forgotten memory-
A marionette forever dancing, you’ve abandoned
To go see the fireworks
He lays out on the street for you- your child
Clapping,
And song birds up in their trees, silent for all the
Space laid out in the tables of midnight.