Who Come Out Singing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

People behaving like butterflies
Drunk off the taters of doggerel
In the mirages of
The Sahara or the Gobi- or-
Growing up bigger and bigger,
Their shoulders are the shoulders of
Airplanes:
Their teeth and their eyes are the windows,
And they court the survivors of
The luminous omnipresence- there is nothing
Special about how they behave.
The lighthouse spreads its wings over their
Grave,
And they metamorphosis through the pages
Of paper snowflakes like ash over the
Cathedral-
They bloom through the high masses of their
Umbilical arrangements,
Like cantaloupes getting fat on the vine,
Lying there like serpents awaiting the virgins
Who come out singing at picking time.