From Our Child Cut From The Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We wait forever for the moon to arrive:
We have to unload the moon eventually-
Make him see truth,
Make him watch myself from the bedroom window
As I blow up a house to stock you inside:
With kites and ribbons and kittens,
And gramophones of cotton candy and honeydew-
Then the gibbous specter will be so fat with’
Intrigue as to be a tourist,
And we can cut a big slice out of him and raise it
As a child;
And it will slip so beautiful and wild through the
Bastions of crawl spaces and suburban pools:
We can name him after you. He takes after you anyway,
Or Federico Garcio Lorca anyway;
And maybe it’s his child we are borrowing for awhile,
And it doesn’t matter if you lost your head to a better
Poet or the mail man or the American Flag,
As long as you are now well and settled and fat like
A tourist from our child cut from the moon.