Like Venemous Daggers Parting A Shroud Of Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Woe to the angels breaking in
The bay;
Woe to their song and dance,
And the boys I remember hanging out
With,
Who remain out together,
Out through college and now
Domesticated
Crepuscule;
Woe to the strange sadness of my face
Not beautiful enough to be believed in;
And to the space underneath these trees,
The esplanades of parking lots
Which cant be understood
I would ransom all of this to understand the
Desperation of my heart,
To have it soothed by a color she wears
On her body,
Something about her higher than those angels
Themselves,
Something never even touched by any of those
Boys,
The fever of her temples conceded to the sheets,
If they are mine for but minutes
As the virulent years divide, as the airplanes shoot
Like venomous daggers parting
A shroud of sky.