Zoetropes Closing Shop Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As the mountain who fevers me goes down
Singing nocturnes,
And the zoetropes close up their winking shops,
My wife sleeps beside me
Not in a forest but in a house—
In her belly another house for this developing
Thing,
Made of mine and hers, rainbows and katydids—
All of the muses put away beneath
Their blistering waterfalls—
All the metamorphoses returned home—
No more borrowing of others' things—
This is the land that we've made
Where the airplanes sleep amidst the clouds
Waiting for their pilots to come home.