Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,195 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Closing Times That Are Never Heard - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There you are, diving in the fashion of your choices,
Each of you sharpened into a weapon or
A tool,
Feathered, and going down: you can swim to the bottom of
The earth and rise up again;
While I have been doing this for so long, catching blue gills
And swinging them around
Like breathless girls out at prom,
Until finally the shady trees slip across the sea:
They form tiny bridges that sparkle under the tenements
For you, for me;
And the world goes round, spreading the happenstances of daylight:
My sisters move in Phoenix,
Some lion yawns, and the tourists are always jubilant, while
Alma is going to lie down in a bed that she shares
With him: he probably doesn’t even exist, but he is there,
While each little voice that I print to no one crawls out and
Tries to live for a few seconds across the sandy playgrounds
Deeply into the closing times that are never heard.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about The Closing Times That Are Never Heard by Robert Rorabeck

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Monday, August 16, 2010



[Report Error]