Moonbeams Over Her Sleeping Children Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There were moonbeams over her sleeping children
Yes it does,
While they slept and the less angelical angels
Played baseball,
And the other answers didn't move from
Where they were sleeping—
These words that accord to their own
Negligents and the other answers of
Their otherwise high schools—
While I then I saw you there—who you really were,
Marionette on the tight rope of a bildungsroman—
And other words that took off over the cypress
Swamps like bottle rockets—
And places where we touched ourselves and
Our faces—in the boudoir, in the white morning—
Angels and cheerleaders coming to town—
As white as satin and as unsullied—
If this place happened to exist, while you were
Turned away, and too afraid to turn back to town.