Until You Nod Off Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the green fields of if, there is your toy
Lost like a cloud of young men
Above the playgrounds, or the cathedrals,
When it rains—
Remembering the hallucination,
The bare feet beside the creeks of
Rattlesnakes while the trees are changing—
Or you remember her,
While you were going down the lonesome
Memories of another afternoon—
As she is playing for you with her penumbras
Of estrangement: she runs to you
Across the red bricks steaming,
Becoming a new angel until you nod off.