Where To Look Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Call now down the boy from his dreams,
Because the day itself is weary and the school yard
Is going away,
Like a vase of flowers emptied;
And aren’t you at your window, looking so good:
Maybe somewhere over your shoulder the music
Is playing you recorded yourself,
As if a fish from its thoughts; and you are calling
All the pretty birds to your father’s
Ornithology: And I haven’t forgotten you:
I’ve even been stealing bicycles for you; and I’ve
Met Orson Wells, and been to the planetarium
In the middle of my lunch break. I didn’t once look for the
Waves,
But caught you in the distant hemispheres, opening your
Window and undressing in your boudoir for all the world
To see,
Like Mary in her heavenly grotto while all the birds were
Singing. Crossed by intersections.
Your holy image shows up everywhere we drive;
And at nights right smack dap in the boulevard your penumbra
Is in its holy suite; and I care all about you and wish
To show my friends, if they only knew where to look.