Zoetrope Around The Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I'll put another disguise upon your hour—I press another
Glass to my lips, and then I'll go to sleep:
I'll get up again, mummified—brilliant—like the all of
The phosphorous lined around all of the
Cadavers down the banks of the canal where we used to
Sell Christmas trees:
It was the happiest time, if you cannot remember:
I was in love with you—and you were married—
The paper boats sailed out to the brink of the stars—
The hummingbirds settle upon the vanishing archipelagos
And we all sang happy birthdays to the black holes that
Made a zoetrope around the moon.