In A Zoetrope Beneath The Sun Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There are still places we can go.
Like green lights for the fox to follow
Where mermaids are as swimming emeralds
And trees emerge from the sky—
I suppose you do not think of our
Swing-set anymore—
Continually, you have to return diurnal—
Disappearing to where there is smoke
In the sky—
And unkept promises of your metamorphosis -
Words as offerings left for you in
High school,
And I wait underneath the chinaberry tree—
Referencing black gods
Who dancing in a zoetrope beneath the sun
That so blinds you.