That Burn In The Day And Bask In The Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Perfected coolness of shade even on dinted skin
Feels fine,
While all the girls I’ve had a fine time thinking of are
Going back to Georgia,
Rolling back the curtains of their eyes, and flooding
There:
Overcoming themselves in nocturnal whispers,
And they finally get over their shifts at the bars,
Which allow them to case through the sanctified joints and
Hubs of the state university the children have been flooding
Into all of this time
Like bright eyed driftwood clutching themselves for want
Of fire: collecting into all the dorm rooms underneath all of
The copper wire;
And I think of lion cups in a limestone cave, and spear tips
In the change jar that we would like to save;
And words that are the whispers of a second light,
That burn in the day and bask in the night.