The Classroom Where The Cenotaphs Exist Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Classroom Where The Cenotaphs Exist



Stones skipping in the skull of echoes
This is the classroom where the cenotaphs exist:
This is where I am anyway
Figuring out, while the yard grows
And your children grow, while you fall out of
Love with me in this spot: but the word of
My soul is not my own plagiarisms
Of true love, and this is for you
Written and sent without a thought, as your
Walk across the world in your brown limbs
Tasting of the emptiness I gladly left for you
For you are my muse fresh from the kilns of
Sunlight, and this is how you belong
Molded from the echoes the surround
The playgrounds of your being
As gardens inhabit the butterfly

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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