The Aspects Of Your Memory Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I skip school
And think of you in the park:
This is my junior year,
And death doesn’t know me yet.
I can still go to the suburban lake and dream.
In the sky,
My heels pointed upwards in their arc,
Each cloud holds something of your aspect:
There is not a useless one,
As they go floating by in the windy traffic
I can think of you now
And see you tomorrow,
The flashing goddess in the hallway:
The subtle wave of eyes over me,
A smile,
My name and then on
To fail geometry:
But soon you will be gone:
The great Diaspora to college
Where all the girls make love
For their first or second time:
And I will live alone in a large house,
And cross the canal barefooted by myself:
Nearby, in the zoo,
The animals will scream,
But I can only imagine what they say.
I will still dream of you
Upstairs sleeping in my parents’ bedroom.
When I go alone to my lake to eat dinner,
And you are still the great fever,
Sleeping between the stars and here-
Though ghostly now,
But in time I will find another
Woman in my vicinity,
As you are being courted by
The amateur musicians inside
Your new circumference:
Once or twice more, as time speeds
On to meet its scheduled destinations,
I will see you jogging alongside my avenues,
And you even stop to kiss my neck
And say my name once more before
Moving away, along the path you have taken-
And that is all, for you are gone,
Though if I skip out again on this day,
To find my constant arc within its green space,
With my heels kicking upwards,
Defying death looking onwards from his
Grey hillside,
All the clouds will still hold the aspects
Of your memory.