Into A Cathedral Of Infants Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Also, in the empty hallway next to the water fountain
No one is drinking from-
The mountain has burned—the mermaids have been found
Out to be soldered from monkeys and blue gills
And I am married to another woman,
As you keep house for the man you've had two
Children with
Though you don't want to marry him: but you keep with him—
Cooking or ordering Chinese—
You keep appealing to his orders,
And your brown skin is a apiary whose honey I have tasted
As we have lain alone together in a house only the
Airplanes have crossed:
But those airplanes filled with stewardesses who metamorphosis
Into angels when they get too close to the sun
And the wax that binds them melts
And they become untangled—and into a cathedral of infants,
Growing wings,
Making love, and remembering all that we have done.