Divine Acceptance Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pitching tent where we think the
Sun should go,
My cheeks weeping trouble in the
Shadows,
And I’ve not had an easy day.
My days have been troubled for so long;
I pretend in my religions about you
That you would not care,
Stumbling upon me from the porthole
Of an airplane,
Every cloud another creature god was
Figuring up:
You caress me like an underage aunt,
Sigh and nod and forgive me my troubles,
And give to me your body as a shade tree
With no hesitation expeditious on the tarmac
All the tourists somehow ignoring us,
As I looked up through the symmetry of your
Branches,
And nodded off into the jubilee of your
Divine acceptance.