To The Boreal Churches Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Where I became lost in the space of
A classroom,
Like a coffin in immense daylight holding
So many boys and girls-
And all of their pretty parts:
At first they seem to come in
To make love without windows,
To look at their teacher’s face: what do they
See when I am not there,
And my words are echoing beyond the mountains-
Do I think of there,
Caught up in the higher basins their eyes will never
See,
As they will go home together and become a
Real illusion in the shadows,
And I will just write them off: I will go
Home myself,
And never have to return to the boreal churches of
My muses, or even above then,
To look for the feverish meanings of impossible
Love again.