The Colors Of Your Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve even been up in the fanfare of markets
Above the tree lines of your beauty and of your
Flea markets:
I’ve sauntered up in the mineral ways, while cursing
The sun like looking in your eyes,
And remembering the way down through my
Hallucinations,
Following the shed horns of elk like bred crumbs
Through a tree less forest-
Like an instrument that plays the sweet sound of
Your soul through this insurmountable pain-
As if I found the only firework in the world
That blazed for a moment with the colors of your
Soul.