Beside The Brink Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A joy in the sweeping shallows, in the emptied
And broken throats that once used to hold

And thus pronounce diamonds:
A store of loitering thoughts
And manticores and unicorns and
Other stolen though immortal things:

Cannot you hear me breathing now,
So close and so lost there beside your schoolyard—
Quilled from the beautiful accoutrements:

Inebriated besides the banks of your forbearers
While your beautiful thoughts go shimmering
Like misplaced coins and wishes
Beside the brink.-