Cathedral Poem by Robert Rorabeck

These are the different worlds we bring together
Touching in forgettable cornucopias which only live
For a small while:
Say, her sky is purple, but her eyes are green,
And turned down anyways- as they watch her youngest
Child fallen from the swing set-
The horse eats from the yard across the street
All of the black men live around her.
The tortoises have turned into themselves- or I
Have walked down to the canal,
Turning my back on her- maybe she is hurt-
But her brown skin is a cathedral-
Jasmine perfumes midnight, and I think she will survive.