Like Paper Cenotaphs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You are here- in the palm of my hand,
Like a snowflake melting, like a butterfly I have captured
And there is no words to say how I have killed
You- and you cannot pay for your bills
And you don’t even know how to swim in your backyard pool,
But there is still something from the moon you have
Stolen and your nipples are still as raw and beautiful as
Raspberries from your preschooler’s suckling-
As angels start to warm up to take a bath and
Practice in the sky,
And then you are over me like a park weeping over a butterfly,
And my fireworks are in your pocket like paper cenotaphs,
And the foxes and the bears are dancing around
You dreaming that they have discovered fire.