Where The Jet Engines Crisscross The Spaceshuttles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If it rained over your lips as you kissed
Him outside a beautiful house
That was not yours, I would not tell a lie-
Underneath the rafters and the solar
Flairs making our
Star look as if it were an arachnid full of changing
Space, in the black web of
Blackness:
But I would hold you there, in my delusion
Out beside the pretty canal
The unicorns came to drink from: why aren’t
They just right there:
As the cars stop so they can take pictures-
And the jet engines crisscross the space shuttles
Until they woven a quilt in the very air-
And I wanted to call for my grandmother to come
And see this but I am afraid that she’s gone off
And died somewhere.