From Their Highways Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A single light bulb hung over
A ghostly baseball stadium—and I cannot come
Home,
So lost in the basements I am,
In the grottos of her tricks—
Even the fabulous letters across a billboard cannot
Save me: I am lost well,
As the bicycles and the busses turn around—
And the butterflies head into Mexico:
Mexico,
Where my dog jumps like a marionette in his dreams:
While all of the ships disembark in the dark
Theatres where they are already returning—
And where there are no suburban estuaries for
Truancies and romances:
Where you have already escaped from me so early—
Looking up to the stars and learning,
Learning—after all of the lamps have gone, accorded to
Their bi-ways—
And the midgets fawn with the whoring princesses underneath
The palmettos:
This—a dream that was lost—
Though I can almost remember your eyes—your eyes,
Advertising like angels beside the cars from their highways—
From their highways.