Timeless Secret

The forest is high and sad,
Where the wind cries until it is exhausted,
And the apartments are cheap
Where the men drink whose children are vampires.
They float down on the monkey-bars with
The snow,
Each as unique as an evil flower,
And the trunks split from the deepest absence of
Warmth.
In the morning in the dimmest light there will
Be no sports,
For all the children will sleep very hungrily,
And the mountains will watch them crowding the
Somber tenements like wayward grandfathers too lit
To step inside;
But the children love each other: I used to walk
Amongst them, and dreamed into her eyes the speechless
Motes of innocence before all the possible types of
Theft: She was the one who changed me,
Who resurrected the unknowable remainders of time,
So she just goes on and on: perhaps another man’s
Wife now down in the greener valleys where there are
Actual cars and flowers,
Another man’s wife, a lie- But I will have always seen
Her breath clouding the icy garden,
And how her senses skated so finely permanent before
She budded and all of that she remembered
Was exposed to that weather and stolen, except for what
I keep,
As the trees so barrenly justified,
A secret which does not bloom with time.

by Robert Rorabeck

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