In July Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In July,
After the tents are down,
And I’ve sold all the fireworks I could,
I will pack up and move away for a week
Or two, and climb in the high cleft footsteps
Of God, and swim with my hands scrambling
Upwards into the sunlight cast from his
Gaze looking down, staring through clouds,
Like doorways with
Bright keyholes I slip away into—
I will take pictures which I will send to you
To give you proof of places where the
Brilliant angels of your shadows swim, places
In which I have
Hidden thoughts of you….