The Thorns Of Hemophelia Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Once again from the Pacific Theatre,
You went home from school-
In the Phoenix desert, summarily dusted by
Haboobs-
In the stain glass of rattlesnakes, like a homeless
Kaleidoscope, hide your eyes:
In this pigeon carriage galloping beneath
The speechless skies:
And if you happen to see the monuments, open up
The windows where I’ve remembered you:
Remember my lines I gave to you before
I was leaping over canals and skipping schools:
My good words lining up to die like tinker toys
For you in a room underneath a perpetual
Ceiling fan- in that childhood that grew up
Believing in you- and found you in the occult
Romances bled from the thorns of
Hemophilia.