Those Feelings Who Let You In Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Those feelings who let you in are going now,
Lighting out in that terrible fog:
The last one I can feel is the one letting me know,
Holding the door open as we wave the others goodbye:
What a foolish thing, ambition,
To want to know the avenues to your
Neck, displayed like a creature
Of the sea naked on the foaming shore
Without its dress of shells:
I liked these words I curled for you,
Because I wanted them to be my tongue
Slipping between your lips when you were not looking:
When you were talking with the other man:
I wanted to surprise you,
And let that me by occupation:
To inhabit your heart as if it were my preservation:
I, a naturalism, and your chest the habitat of my study,
But I was never so good at satire
To make you look a second time at me:
The embolden language of my parents’ rejection,
A child making a mess in his lonely room,
I accomplished that:
I became a fool for you, but look at this.
Here is the conclusion to the thing.
There are still many words to be said,
And people to say them as they wake up for class:
There is a room I am in,
And outside there are trees,
And the sky in its haunted night too cold to follow-
Languages and lovers and roller coasters aplenty,
But none for me-
I graduated and that is that,
And now is the time for my simpler plot:
No more essays, or thoughts of you:
The way you lighted the predawn hours
Where the men were busy selling the fruits
Which would soon travel northwards,
To be bought in the morning-
I loved you, as I told you, but I am still here:
My words should become silent now,
A mute theatre, a holocaust,
A simpler traveler abiding the rules:
And you, the untamed migration
That is lost.