Jubilant As The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now into this song the birds sing
In the middle of transit—evaporating the frogs
The ethereal swords have picked clean into the sky
Until they become another task—
And you again are the memory I cannot have—
And you are as beautiful again as the rainstorm over
The mountain
As the wild horses come home, stampeding for want of
Liquor—and unearthing all of the forgotten arrowheads—
And you say, in your admonishments—that now
Wouldn't be a bad time to call you—
But when you look up, there is another man in your
Vision—
A pilot that I cannot believe in—a pretender of faerie -
And as jubilant as the sky at high noon
And then we are the same thing echoing—
And at this moment I am sure that I cannot do enough
To deserve you.