Creatures Of New Glass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ll follow you until the windows shut,
And then I’ll die right into the snow;
I was meant to be a lonely cut
From a Dickens novel- I was meant to look at
Old loves getting married in this spy glass,
And then slit my throat on the downside of
The next caesura;
Isn’t this the way to go, to end up broken down
Well before familiarity,
To last the afternoon breathing alone in this room,
Or in a car alone in a park down the hill from
Where the houses laughing live;
I’ve mentioned the scars- I see your eyes by
Them, sliding away as if out of control,
Hinging to new lovers who carry you through the
Thresholds into their huts
Where the fires live, where the spirits birth, breathing-
Shaping the creatures of new glass into their world.