To A Nebular Womb Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have returned to a nebular womb
Where there is a swing-set and a school book
Because it has always been my design to do so,
And I do not knowing anything else,
Except that sometimes airplanes look so good
In the heavens above the like minded baseball diamonds—
And I know just as little about you—
How we fell into or out of love once or twice
In between our earliest amusements while nothing
Else I wrote ever sold, because there just so happened
That there was no time for it—
But then you were better at remembering these routine absences
Than I was,
And now I am here—happily lost in the playgrounds of
A Disney World at blind midnight—never letting go of
Everything you so easily abandoned—
Smelling what remains of the soul of your cadaver left like
The hoof prints of fresh paint across the playground—
After the buzzards and the helicopters and the
Dragonflies have already crossed—
What joy to they bring to the paint by numbers—
What answers can they bring to the land of the crossed?