No Need To End Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Land plays baseball with
Stolen goods: little
Black boys smile like gold
Chains on their mezzanines,
And I wander so far
Away from school,
Just to get out of the
Range of your eyes:
Far away your atmosphere
Rises like a mushroom
Cloud;
Your narcissistic echoes
From the classroom are
As sweet and musical
As an icecream
Truck;
And I think of you all day,
Leaping over canals
And graveyards;
Pretending to be a conquistador
With my plastic sword,
I see you rising through the
Sky,
Like an unreachable sprig
Of grapes,
Like dancing without gravity,
Something truly beautiful
That has no need to
End.