In The Bosom Of The Woods Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Simplicity on an abandoned road speaking of
The thoughts left amongst the shells,
As the sunlight weeps down through the vines
Caressing the pine trees—
And strolls in falls across the stolen bicycles
In a heap of collected metal frames—
Like dye-cast forgeries once belonging to a little
Boy's heart—
In the next yards over, housewives become
Distractions in their elements—and the days
Yawn in the myriad glows—like lions as
Sweet as watermelon—
Pacifists of the solar systems singing in the echoes—
Open cathedrals make a nude retreat for
The plagiarists and the tomb-boys—
Who come here, sweaty knuckled—
Here is the very time for their survival—
A beautiful kaleidoscope in the bosom of the woods
That shall never be revealed.