The Dying Butterflies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Slow diamond of a burning ship
Calling for your love with my entrails- a need for this void
And the skeletons float, laughing—
Made to believe in the rhythms of the journey
Or that there is no place more insubstantial—
Where the fretful liaisons wait for the werewolves -
And they for the school girls to step off the
Thresholds of their busses—
We will be testing tomorrow, and tomorrow
Forever—
As the buses turn around like knights dancing
Around the dying butterflies.