Who They Really Are Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am having trouble passing through the day:
Something has gone from inside me, gone over the sea
Rushing to find the stone that
Skipped away; and I make my ideas up in my head,
So I can breathe:
So I worship strange girls across the world like laurel leaves
Placed on the crown of the fastest emperor in town:
And I park my eyes underneath her mile high bridges and
Breathe;
And it is not right: These candles are not mine,
But they will do for the night: Their little warmth like
Nocturnal butterflies weeping molten in my palm;
And I look at their light passing away, whispering like amber
Against the vinyl of my sunken car;
And they seem to dance for me like little wishes and
Wonderfully ornate cheerleaders
Kidnapped from music boxes too delicate to wonder who
They really are.