The Prayer Flags Of Any Number Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Up in the candelabrums of the lighthouse
We do our good work for Indians
Or anyone who wants to come in to kiss our
Scars:
And the bicycles ride by on their adventures
And anyone you know who you can remember
Who wants to come in:
Let them,
While the sunlight is bright over the tailcoats
And pinafores of otters:
And the aspens up on the mountain cry to
The little girl who but once walked inside
Their sorority:
And now like dime store pets who remember her
Innocent perfume, tell tales of her while
The mountain lions come in,
And the abject wanderer lingers on the pinpricks of
Their summit:
The elk as red as the pennies of their tears,
Offer restitution
For the prayer flags of any number.