For Us To Believe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The children of the grapevine of vanishing airplanes seem
The be according to eh fullness of the emptiness
Of anywhere—
While we still try to pull out, the vanishing purple
And blue fireworks who seemed
To have fallen everywhere—
While Mars lies unexplored, like a virginal marionette,
Until the summer time comes
All unannounced over the knights,
And they have to take their very same places over
The fields of happenstance, until there happens to be
A river and new beautiful visions of the
Beautiful fevers of blue women dancing—and
They all happened right here in the shallows of the creeks
Of our echoes- while the same séances broke out to
No one under the throats of the wolves of
The undo crutches of the awakening mothers—
Then, on Sunday, another residue to the playgrounds,
And to the off-hand pits of anywhere while they were
Pretending to believe in themselves,
Another echo to the star dust—while another
Family was found out in the disbelieve of the
Stars—it didn't happen to be beautiful,
But there wasn't any more room for us,
So we both held our breath while we pretended
To believe what was happening was for the best
For the both of us, while the stars skipped
Across the tenements, and the other planets
Grew to their best for us to believe.