Things That She Can Steal Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If you lie underneath the playgrounds,
How will I find you so far away from school,
Hidden from all of the unreasonable
Classrooms,
And chanticleer already fried upon an orange
Plate that is beginning to fade-
Losses of thought echoing where your footprints
Have already left-
Like your own memory for water parks,
Or the way you held hands with your sister
In the middle of everywhere:
These thoughts are for you, like the small disturbances
Across a baseball diamond abandoned in the afternoon-
After airplanes have made nests of the highest sky,
And the moon talks them into becoming
Things that she can steal.