The Emptiness Of Motion Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now the grounds have families which the dead are
Waking up around,
And caracoling like concessive aerials, or the watermarks
In a unicorn’s horn,
And the family is bright but full of clouds, and it sings
With the forest fires which persuades the beasts,
So all at once every tree is aglow with a fierce Christmas,
As if with the lights of angels,
So proud and consumptive, but in the end feeling consumed
By the emptiness of motion.