Lucifer Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfect stairway up to God,
And there are many distractions,
Changing
Their dresses:
They disrobe in Aristotelian layers,
But there are not many,
Riding the stillborn foals
With championship legs
Led by Virgil
Through the motes of the Pre-Socratics
Who never knew Jesus,
But tried to figure him out
Before the train arrived at the station.
They are feeding on the spores
And the dandelions
Blown this high-up,
Nose bleeds,
Beautiful without danger
Is innocence,
Her eyes gleaming looking out the class:
Can she see me there
Mounting the spindle’s thread,
Far above the silver swing-set?
If not,
If not then there is still time,
Though I am growing gray
I will forget my name before hers,
And fall like Lucifer,
The handsome betrayer,
The spikenard of uncommon haste.