This Unspoken World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

These afternoons are going by
Like the steady stream of jetliners
At your uncle’s air show:
And you are still just a kid,
Growing gray from being
Touched by all the nameless ghosts.
Your fears are swinging beside
You in the park alone,
When you should’ve been in school,
Trying to emulate your peers,
Those pink felons dripping
Chlorine in their backyard swimming pools-
They have the eyes of one thousand songbirds,
Waiting on the power lines
For the children getting off the bus
To discard their mind’s offspring
Seeding the sodden green
Scattered on their front lawns
The infinite cypress where the wind sways,
While their families are lost inside
The television in the living room.
Only the little boy on the roof’s identity
Can see the momentary prism
Bridge the heads of pine trees,
Believing he saw a little girl air walking,
Her eyes a whisper of blue
Climbing up the nebular stairwell
Of the albino’s monument,
Until preserved in the sun’s yellow resin
On the other side of this unspoken world.