To Touch Down Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Enduring the shouts of echoes,
The yesterdays of airplanes
Over the summer fields of
Preschool,
Talking about fieldtrips to the
Sky.
Above where the rabbits lay so
Frantically
To the dinner bells of
Suppertime,
As I am left up in the
Angelic armpits of
A lustrous tree;
She could even be a virgin
The wind doesn’t know
And I wait in her arboreal
Nursery for my love to love in,
To touch down on the shore.