In The Comely And Fragile Sorority Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfections latchkeyed from bliss,
And looking down the mouth of the lonely roads that
Don’t exist anymore:
Gone with kidnappers on blister some holidays:
Gone back through the bluish forts of incests where the tomahawks
Rest and the mountain lions underneath
The dwarf apple trees:
And little girls there no bigger than triangles, counting their
Luck with the plums on their fingers,
Promising to undress and climb up to the pinnacle of
The Christmas trees, or not promising another world;
And in here in the silence of my house:
Silence, and the lost bets of bobcats who spill their teal and milk
Across the tenements of the Atlantic:
Each wave a microscopic city of the appropriately disposed
And cuckolded;
With the horns of reindeer and moonstruck elk rising out of each
Caesura and crest.
And the other scientific names that come out of the habit of wandering
Far astray from the ordinary path in the forest,
Like Goldilocks, like Red Riding Hood, and the other sisters
In the comely and fragile sorority who should have known better.