The Hunger Of Songbirds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Embossed with these parapets of
Swing-sets,
Perpetually, so nothing ever has to go down,
But these songs:
They rest like cut satin in a mess
While the skull is smiling through the
Keystone
Where I suppose you’ve seen her
Smiling again,
And bearing her children- stepping
Above the downed power lines
That whisper to the streets where the housewives
Roam-
But she glides above them, her metamorphosis
Evaporating
Until her legs are gone- the foxes leap in her
Twilight as if they were her men:
Until she is gone with the hunger of songbirds-
And nothing is ever spoken of her again.