The Signals Who Travel The Spheres Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My cares are not personal, but they must be met:
The sky rises up like a water fountain and wets the lips of
Angels that it rears:
The sky in a somnolent dance lighting like a fire off the sea;
And if you have ever seen it metamorphosing,
What you say you cannot see, but must be believed like the
Proof of a scientific romance,
The way cicadas and katydids leave themselves like jewels on
The necks of old southern trees,
Where my cousins are always wetted and being born
Like kittens amidst the liquorish tongues of the echinopsis;
And now it is almost time to see the air show,
To see where the daredevils are blowing like feathers of arrows,
For they are those who delight in the fireworks that like
Missing children who are never found,
Never fall back to earth, but leave their bodies behind in the
Mythological colonnades, in the flumes of old houses, becoming the
Signals who travel the spheres.