In The Basins Of Those Clouds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This bed of pearls sequesters
The little eels- the black urchins- the jewels
Of black eyes
And thunderstorms underneath the busses:
The axles spent on cinderblocks:
The housewives of midnight and liquored joy,
Going down to the shadows
To French-kiss their princes- their used car salesmen,
And the boys who play in the field:
And then all of the rest of the way you will find
Me alone and spun out with the dwarves,
And counting on my fingers nearer a nest of
Coral snakes who need
My help and the wings between my fingers-
Like raindrops upon the nipples of
The playground-
Like sand dollars in the mailboxes: to skip
School,
And fly above the playgrounds: to get out of hear,
And kiss other lovers who were never
Allowed to swim with me, or to swim with
You in the busied amphitheatres of commercial
Airliners, yawning silver wings and booming
In the basins of those clouds.