The Runways Of The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What do you know about the shoulders of
Sonnets: I know nothing of them,
And yet they remain carrying me—over the playgrounds
In the middle of a school day,
And over the scars of the moon with the dogs we have
Somehow found there to play with us:
I wonder, haven't you seen them—while your very own
Mother was kissing the shadows of her house:
And then, I know you have—for all of the cats have been called
In, and it is the middle of the night—
The serpents hang like wet laundry from the armpits of the
Lonely citrus tree in the backyard—
And there still isn't enough time to call all of the anonymous
Angels down from the runways of the sky.