The Bones Hopeful And Playing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Terrorized in the retreats of love:
Looking at her in the eyes of a wolf surmounting
The Ferris wheels of another nightmare,
A sniper in the Christmas trees
In the vermilion lingerie where all of the dryads disrobe,
Making the king and princes stutter,
Turning their crowns into svelte veneer;
And the mountain just going up and up, across the
Unruly logic of the Aristotelian spheres,
Scattering the bones of young hopefuls and debutants through
Its treeless fields and shoulders
Who gossip in the lightning storms, upon whom not even
The clouds can make such transgressions,
And the canaries get stuck somewhere in the half light of
A subconscious wish:
Wishing in the steep and dimming pearlness of
A world that the seas perpetually raise up worship,
Into whose stems and jugulars the unenduring airplanes
Wilt and crash:
That they knew the passageways to the victory that she held
Like a secret through the breathless keyholes of her unspeakable
Routes, that languished in the skies up there,
Forever keeping the bones hopeful and playing, like a promise
Left unresolved.