The Bouquets Of Coffins

The beautiful denouement of these things in the contradiction
Of their short births,
Is that they will live forever if they have caught a breath over
The skin of vagabond wildflowers:
They will go on and on in the sweet littlish rows of ancestors,
Trying out some times
While the populations of sweet young high schools so too
And I have shared my parts for her, even if she has not turned
Up; it was an easy job where the traffic runs, and I stand off in
The cold slabs of easements and check the inconsistency of stars
For her, the wishes that do not run away,
The grains of salt that clustering like baby’s breath around the
Blindnesses of life, while I hold out for her,
And give her these pieces of me, like sharp bones underneath the
Bouquets of coffins that can never end.

by Robert Rorabeck

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