The Intricacies Of Autumns Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Infinite stranger with your regresses,
I burn for you: and it seems for awhile alright
To swim in my lucidity:
While the Christmas trees drip the tears of
Candles
And the traffic carnivals- and everything else is
Spoken easily and softly- and the lines
Drift like miniskirts:
As the airplanes drift like paper snow flakes;
And the lions yawn on Friday:
On this Friday of make-believe, as the parcels
Are delivered, and the supermarkets
Beef;
And the girls I once knew start walking down
The streets lacing
The intricacies of autumns on their feet.