Boys Who Are Doves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And boys as light as doves,
Who are doves,
Swim in the nimbus,
The kidnapping rainstorms
Who curl into homes
Nestle in the backyard swimming holes:
The deluge of their mothers’ soul
Broken from the eyes;
But they are gone
And ever will be young,
Until their memories stain the creek
And their mothers’ tombs/
They are there in the future
Playing in the white field
As the new city builds its crosses/
And they are there swinging over
The abyssal planes,
As the phalanx of sunlight
Lances the bosoming waves-
When they congress
They play a ring around the hurricane,
And the laughter is the prick of the spine
Along the beach without a shadow
Where the men in the ghost less cars
Can never observe,
Returning home to careless wives,
The weightlessness of their lost brothers.