The Long Collapsed Windmills

This happened over the pledges of the wanton beating
Of my heart:
Each beat a shedding of drear coinage down the wishing
Well where the ghosts imagine they are bleeding-
Tearing with words that pretend to be beautiful,
Imagining that they can last a long time, an in each pitiful
Sob a metamorphosis, a new beginning-
When they are already stains in a forgotten bathroom:
All of their goldfish are stolen and tantalizing
The sun and the cats in the sun on the windowsill-
Each with a silken heartbeat that will too soon be dying-
And the ghosts blow like banners, and like tears of
The long collapsed windmills
That sink further and further into the world.

by Robert Rorabeck

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