The Names I Will Never Know Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Walking the pensive rounds in that darkness
Probably in Colorado
Caracoling the lake off to the side of family get-togethers,
Looking at low hanging spruce branches to hang
The paper snow flakes that don’t
Cost a thing to my mind.
The traffic seems to run its accord off these mountains,
Like a chromed weather unto itself-
And lovers hold hands in the park beside me, but
I’ve forgotten the rules of their game:
My sister is married and successful in college;
Her mailbox is choking on it,
And her friends gather around her like candles in tallow,
Softly burning like little song birds,
Like tourists lined up to see the dazzles of a mine,
Like a fat womb of quartzite peppered semipreciously;
And the girl I think about has an opal birthstone,
And a GED: she knows all the names of the plants that grow here,
Many of the names I will never know.