Underneath The Clouds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Broken adventures moving against the
Stream:
This is my family,
And these are the few words I know-
And none of it belongs here:
These yards and houses do not belong,
Nor the airplanes leaping over them,
Nor the girls here
Who are shortly to be women: women,
Long-legged,
Bronzed women of a special cast-
They who will know their families like fishing
Leaping
Fast- fast:
Women of the year: women of a single snowflake
Evaporating underneath a single sun:
My words are just for her,
Women- my words are meant to be the flower
That signifies the metamorphosis of
Everything,
And casts its perfumes into the aqueducts of
The beating heart of her truancies,
While she goes out all night long-
This is the staple of my belonging handed out readily
Upon the highway-
A broadside for the busy avenues all headed to
See her being,
As she goes back to school again, as the airplanes
Fall asleep underneath the clouds.