The Noises With Their Rooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As softly as the children sleeping on their lancesâ€"
At last in a childish bivouac of kindergartenâ€"
They leave these spaces we’ve invadedâ€"
They sift into the heavensâ€"
They are whatever elements we’ve forgotten, lasting
Above the cypressâ€"
Beautifying in their truanciesâ€"they languish as they are divided:
The same as a moat in the tiniest of living roomsâ€"
They are the silvering candles of a firework in their recesses:
And I have appreciated them all of the afternoon:
I have mooned over them
In their ethereal gardenâ€"as the stars they have bloomed,
Opening their eyes from their long recessesâ€"
And filling up the noises with their rooms.