The Churches Of The Skies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Gift of rainbows hear me now—I am in a place that once was
Not so far away—heavenly knights have fallen all a-tangle
Crisscrossed into the man-eating jungle of their
Absent-minded displays—
You can even see them there while you are eating dinner
And picking your teeth,
And talking to your Chinese wife—while a boy more beautiful
Than you are reads every poem—
In your dreams, then, super heroes as bright and as tiny as
Diamonds roam the neighborhoods of homeopathic
Equinox, collecting the rewards
That cannot hurt a fly—and beneath your house a labyrinth
Awakens—filled with the forget-me-nots of plastic Christmases—
Just as the airplanes overspill the churches of the skies.