The Blooming Forest Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What a life given to me in open measures:
They crowd outwards like floors of fissures, and her
Eyes give me no other wonders:
They stray away from me for other passengers,
They tell the tale of her flight to fanfares:
I see her turning in caracoles and archways above the earth,
Like a ribbon of water transplanted in the air:
She is the disappearance of an innocent school evaporated
Into the cumulous of fair heirlooms:
She is the stolen liquor broken from the rule,
Christening the pathways of some gypsies who have
Learned to fly, who are now taking the other way into
The shade of their lovely mountain:
What is on the other side is too far away for me to say, but
She knows every whisper of every lilac under aspen tree:
She wears every hidden badge that the blooming forest has
Spoken to her solitarily.