What It Was Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fire spume
Across the monuments: and I suppose I am not
Alone,
While the bulls fight and the rockets take off:
And your son smiled today at me,
Muse, without discovering who
I was: while I drove by him, and then I continued
Away- while the sky struck up
And floundered underneath the airplanes
Like dancers with nosebleeds
Trying to figure out what it was
That they hadn’t seen in the mobile hanging
Over the crib of the day:
But their neighborhoods were finally collected
In a book that was passed around the cathedrals and
Lavished and baptized- and it was a long way
That it traveled while the dragons bathed
Through unimaginable waves
Until was finally discovered just how exactly it
Was that they had stolen what it was
That they had meant to say.