In The Abscence Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dying roses smelling of the putrescence of
The open throat of a sink—
Going down the many ways to the abeyances—
The movie theatres of graveyards lying
Beneath their places
Or the millennium of hearts underneath the
Patrons of museums—
Oh what a joy to believe in the bivouacs of
Sparrows—
And the other keener mediums
While my wife is pregnant and the week has
Finally lapsed—
I am finally done with the lamplight of
The fading light towers—lying on my back—
Hypochondriac—kleptomaniac—
Mermaids persuade in the sea
And the stewardesses above them—
Sororities of many colors—evaporating into
Sounds—soon it will be Christmas—
As the beautiful angels leave the earth,
Like smoke from over the empty carports
Just as the higher basins—
And I believe I have seen an angel
In the absence of any god who might have happened
To be around.