The Zygote If Tadpoles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I need at least one word
A day from you,
As the daydreams seep:

Black-markets of little boys' nightmares
on display
In the latchkey canals:

Where I used to look for you,
In the slow green denoument of little girls-
Torpid daydreams
walked besides-

Truants of Christmas, gifts of the holidays-
Solvency of the reeds,
And malaise of a Christian holiday-

Children are just the zygote of tadpoles on a
merry-go-round of make-believe-

Spume a caserole of fireworked-hopes taking off
Towards a taxi-way of melting skies-

New born child sleeping on the mobile of
South Carolina,
Alligator comes snouting up to the silt
Of the bank:

Lovers are making love,
Knives in the cake-
Beautiful dreams slipping into daydreams-

We are all at a point of immaculate extinction,

The milkmaids draw towards the cows,
The bar maids draw up to the bar-stools-
As the ghosts climb up towards the bottleneck
of the ill-believed mountains-

Lost climbers fingers knotted into a momement's
Thought, tangled into a crepescule's death-
There for awhile,
Then falling, falling anonymously-
Footprints without echoes-

Lovers without heartbreak, creche in the foothill
of fairytales-
Beautiful vases breathing without breath.