Skin And Bone Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Skin And Bone
Red crafts in outer space,
Or underneath the canopy of apple orchards:
The mountains looking on like
Overbearing mothers:
As the train whistles through the pass of
Travelers who no longer travel there anymore:
Windows without space-
Greenness and blueness without breath or wings,
Ribbons entwined in the tail of
A once pretty horse that is now little more
Than skin and bone.
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5/1/2024 5:22:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
