The Saltlick Of Cathedrals Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of these false echoes cannot keep pace with
The stars—
My young child is growing up—
I want to name her after my grandmother even
While she is in my wife's Chinese womb—
I want to emulate the starlets
Who drape the vineyards of their nuptials
Straight over the sincerest of the faeries whom dance like light loving
Spiders over the esplanades of my living tomb—
And when I awaken tomorrow, and drive my car straight into
The echoes of the schoolyard that I do not belong in
But which I grew up in—
Then the daylight becomes the most beautiful of silence's
Pleasure—filled up by the memories that could not
Contend with the heirlooms of the housewives of
Spikenard—collecting from the perpetuity
Of the saltlick of cathedrals—
A beautiful world over developed by fairies—
A joyful place overgrowing the tombs.