The Modernity Of Airplanes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The breast of a caterpillar curled from a leave
Curling as if pulled from
The moon: yes, his metamorphosis is an experiment of
Science,
Changing as he does into the night,
As the children echo home from school—
Or get lost in the park where they spend all of
Their fireworks—
But his world is in the merry-go-round that has already
Vanished—
Like the complexity of mythological creatures
Whose space in the sky has been taken away by
The modernity of airplanes
That brush across the middle of the sky like an
Artist's stroke—
And what does the caterpillar bent towards—
Nothing, if he doesn't see you there—
Soon he will enter chrysalis and, once bloomed,
Enter a world of espionage above the greenery of
Your mazes, above the labyrinths of your rubies:
And he will become so beautiful if ever so delicate—
And he will land upon one of your shoulders—
I do not know which,
And promise to you so many things from his steamy and
Hard-boiled midnight—and if you do not believe him,
You will crush him—he will become an epitaph
For a paper airplane—or a cenotaph
For a blade of grass—and you will walk away
Deceiving yourself to so many boys whose eyes
Are like vipers for song birds,
And whose lips are like Christmas trees for angels
Who are as delicate as china dolls
Falling forever.