Vanity Of Your Galaxies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Stars go leaping, leaping like stainless steel
Frogs:
When they are young, stars go leaping,
Leaping like coal tadpoles
Out from the center of her amphibian butchery:
And each of them has a reason for existence,
Or they have no reason at all:
And each of them has a bedroom where you live
And sometimes answer phone calls from
All your boys,
And yards where you swing outside almost thoughtless,
Almost naked,
And you have so balmy of holidays and memories of
When you walked all the way down into the
Little parks and almost cried for somebody;
But there are now so many cars on the streets of
You galaxies, that they threaten to make your
Stars endangered-
Cars on insouciant streets of big words, going headily
Over the land, never thinking of romantic languages,
Never having been to Spain,
In red shift and gold fish- seeming to come back and
Forth like a strangely organized tide,
And where now have they carried all of your boys,
For they no longer think of you in the vanity of
Your galaxies,
And doesn’t that seem almost impossible?