The Tearduct's Metamorphosis Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Young had by young
When they had their children: dreaming as if they
Lived beside the pool,
When they did not need to have any of this:
All of their roman candles were blue,
But unspecific: and they joined the crowds on their
Holidays,
But did not have the capacity to look up at the clouds:
There spores of other wishes turned around:
Yes, narcoleptic Ferris-wheels—
Movie theatres for the blind in the blinding daylight
The airplanes cut through—
Bubbling wishes through the broiling nimbus:
Spume of that recalcitrant garden:
Alms for thirty year old tears shed by Jesus Christ
Still swimming up there—
Yet to be collected by the tearduct’s metamorphosis:
Do backstrokes as they multiplied beneath that cathedral—
Children that rode on merry-go-rounds that didn’t
Have to believe.