To The Playgrounds Of My Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As true as an echo to the playgrounds of my soul,
Can't you see me dancing
Echo to your brilliant shadow
With the night moving over us like an entire
Airplane
And the apple orchards shuddering like dancing girls:
There she will be tomorrow, held over in the species
Of her classrooms—
Overly complicated by her good-looks and by your
Infatuations
As another truant peters out through the hallways:
Where is he going?
To the sea? To the moon? Or towards where you
Sent him,
For he has made himself an offering of the love you
Can never obey—
But, tomorrow, other boys with plagiarize him
Who you will fall in love with—
And after you have gone away with them
He will metamorphose into actors of
Chalk and moonlight
That steal whatever they can from the
Moonlight that resolves itself by the light of day.