Trains in my ears <br />And I only have nine fingers, and I wonder who <br />I will be loving until then: <br />Driving home after <br />All of the pacifying fire of another day <br />As the light is parceled out into <br />The gullets of the wealthiest <br />Men, <br />And the skull grows, and the rainbows unwrap <br />Their ribbons <br />Into another daylight of some other god than <br />Who is always here: <br />Why it parcels out, and the sad light seems to transcend <br />Forever, skulking primordial <br />Across the sheaths in those fields of planted <br />Knights, <br />But after them, the young virgins come out <br />And read my poems <br />And try their tongues and fly- and fly their kites.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/their-kites/
