To Her Abandoned Fairytales Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It cannot last and yet I go down
In the name less forever—
In the wells underneath
The heavens and the airplanes walking in them:
Wanting to become a soft sport,
Whistling underneath Christmas tree tents
And tending to learn new vocabulary even while
Never having to cross the actual canal
Where my friend the Haitian lives:
What doesn't he know about voodoo and eating faces:
And the Christian billboards give over so
Much light to the pagans,
That the little phosphorescent angels swim in their
Dime-store pageantries like the willow-wisps
Of candy-titted angels—
And on their high wire act they have to cross
All of the oceans—on my birthday or on my honeymoon—
While all of the sky is still silver
Cutting like a kitchen knife across the recesses of
Hot air balloons,
As the mountains struggle upwards from her bedrooms—
And the heavens fall down forever
Try to kiss and to make love to her abandoned fairytales.