The Unforsaken Grounds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Put in me this cold cloud—
Like a glass of alcohol passed from housewife
To housewife—
Until it finally finds the one she loves while
She is still warmly hibernating above
The ground-
And Christmas gives new toys for her—
And places where there are still rivers
Slipping around the
Mounds—
And daylight and moon light and
Cathedrals—
Enveloped like the archaeology of the jubilations
That once were forever
A zoetrope dancing forever above
The unforsaken grounds.