Like Tadpoles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Perhaps unicorns will have to come this
Way again,
Said a cloud to a cop- and better words that the
Aspens stole,
And the juvenile fireworks underneath their opal
Shoulders,
Slightly burning and round, as the entirety of
The beauty slid down from the mountain,
Like a purple veil crushed and eaten
By elk and grizzly bears-
A primordial Zion, with sugarsnaps and clover-
At the summit, a water tower spying
On my mother- before she was even married,
Or had to think of me;
So, before my muses had ever awakened- or even
After they had to have awakened,
In the soft rain cloudy the carports, or the uneasy
Forests of Australian pines,
Filled with the loafing conquistadors and decades
Old pornography-
They were just there, yet transformed, like
Tadpoles in the slow green- but even after they were
So beautiful, they hardly ever had to think of me.