Into Her Turns Poem by Robert Rorabeck

People that sweat in person with the spirits,
But they are not here right now—
If you come back tomorrow,
They will be here tomorrow,
But if you wish to open your eyes
You will see that my young son is growing younger—
Inside the song of light,
And inside of the mountains which cradle him
And the stars,
But for awhile they have been laughing,
And making fun of the mechanizations that are
Supposed to control their lives.
Tomorrow, the forecast in Shanghai is for
Pollution and burning airplanes,
But, otherwise, my tomorrow is resolved—
There is nothing else that can describe it:
I will have a house in the hills,
Higher up than the horse heads—
And in the heavens of the merry-go-rounds—
I will find the opportunity to believe
Again
That it is all right here,
One way or another—
As the cars sway back and forth
And the merry-go-rounds turn about,
Occasionally,
Whenever money is considerate enough
To put their presidential heads
Into her turns.