Like Jasmine In The Seances Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sleeping in the carport of the high school where I now
Teach,
All of the heavens out of reach- and my body filibustering
For angels who will never learn-
As the sky is a cathedral that will always burn,
And looking up into her
As the airplanes cross her skirts, and are in her hair
As if barrettes- like girls famished in a
Busied Eucharist,
Waiting for the swing-sets to set- while all of the housewives
Are getting wet- wet-
And the jewelries around their necks, a Ferris Wheel-
A midway above the notches of her clothes,
Recoiling softly- dismissive as a single night into which
The frog princes sing- sing of metamorphosis-
Sing, sing-
To the mirages in the desert- of words that have never found,
Of possibilities never reaching the flesh of tongues
Into a strange chorus where there are no gods exactly
But there is a certain metamorphosis
Of the daily thought: of how I can change into a prince for you:
How I can lay out my raiment across the fields for you,
In your legs of whatever colors you are:
Over the mowed grassed and the trimmed hedges of ixora-
Celebration how this has become a game without any
Touchable rewards, just as if these were knights
Adventuring naked, into the wilderness without swords:
Or across the rivers who come grandly, cutting us out
Of our middles,
As we sleep as soundly as minnows drooled outwards onto
Our pillows- into a popular world of our dreams,
With paper snowflakes for our weathers- and paper airplanes of
Our dreams:
We come down softly as winnowed hoof prints into our
Meadows, in the daydreams of our twilight
Like jasmine in the séances of our artistic sleeping walking:
I reach out to touch you, the wind marking my fingertips,
The windows staring into the open yards-
As the goldfish always see the truancies rising just as wildflowers
In the truancies of our escapes.