In A Creche In The Mountains Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tricks of tombs and spiders
In a crèche in the mountains—
There in a pretty womb,
Tumbled together
With the wolves and arrowheads,
My parents bedecked with white hairs
And my mother's sister—
Yet lost in the limbo I enjoyed for
Five years:
There they are where the Milky Way
Cascades in a rich and expansive swath
So far away from the cities
Or the thoughts of sexy women
Who dream of driving towards those apexes
Of society
With thoughts of seduction:
They are constantly going there with
A purpose,
To the crowded plots where manmade light
Drowns out the heavenly ones—
For procreation and survival
Until they are returned to stone or
Dust or whatnot
And the rivers take them back again:
First their painted toenails
And then their tattooed ankles—
Take them from their beds to
The gutters
And wash them down the streams,
Down the muddy and weeded runs
To cool the lips of deer and foxes:
Here they are intermingled with the nocturnal
Thoughts outside my parents' window:
They are already sleeping.
My aunt is reading a book alone.
Beneath of where
The Milky Way turns like a pinwheel
Upon a young boy's lips.