The Salt Of Your Tears Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Rivers you can fly over,
Or leap over like burning glass using all of
The wishes of your birthday—
And then lay in the snow and in the sun bask:
Above you,
A festival of hot air balloons, losing themselves
And conjoining—
Promises to the thespians in the make-believe
Clouds—
And when it gets to quiet and so cold that
Even the river stops her singing,
Lay like a discarded angel, and the deer
Will come lay beside you,
And even the foxes—then what will they say
To you with their eyes,
Their tongues lulling for the salt of your tears
As the airplanes look down from the skies.