No One Left Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Loneliness is my day, and it is almost perfect:
I jog the quietude of the canal just west of the freeway:
All of those commuters don’t perceive me;
And I wonder if I went to school with any of them,
Or if any of them are girls I have loved going to and from
School and caves:
And I think of beautiful flowers in rich bouquets like
Girls I love,
To whom those sad flowers I gave: and even now crepuscule
Is coming, into which I always look more beautiful;
And even now I could move right back in amidst those
Sad graves, or I could climb the tallest mountain in the world,
And look down the dresses of all that is beautiful;
And I am almost done: The fire is smoldering, while
Her eyes have always, always turned away,
And this night is just another silken menagerie into which
I am off alone, into which I have no one left to play.