Like Children In The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Looking up now—children in the sky—guts of butterflies
Over flying saucers: kissing cousins,
As high schools reopen and spend their afternoons
Weeping in the fabricated existence of adolescent wisdom:
And all around the blooming tombstones,
The housewives circulate: shopping and coming to
Check the pools, but there are no stanzas in their eyes
And unrecognizable words hurt their souls—and that is why
I wait right here—masturbating in a park in just the right
Corner underneath a cypress where they cannot see me,
Where the light pools, skipped off the underbellies of airplanes
Cutting so sharply that they make the earth squint like a
Diamond—and before it is over, she is already gone—
Gone into the earth like a womb that gives her bouquets
And addresses her with the epitaphs whose only wish is to
Remember her name.