The Dreaming Of Insects Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The days are common place- Here they go,
The anonymous parade, the same as in
Highschool, but with less clairvoyancy and
Those dreams.

I don't skip out anymore: I don't go anywhere,
But I still look at pictures of her as if she was
Still here. I still drive around as if I knew the
places where we used to live;

But this is how it goes:
Her bone structures are still angelical;
And in the library I can read about her,
The stream of seances she will never perceive,
The capitalizations of anonymous romance:

I will get up from, and walk out into that sunlight,
Experience another day with nothing given to me in exchange,
But for those good memories,
The slick truancies that lay out in the mowed grass,
Underneath the subtle dreaming of Insects.

She is like those jewels they have shed:
The opulent cadavers in the floating shades.
She gives to me that motionless dream,
Alluring me, though she has gone.