All Of The Brilliant Stores Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can tell of things saddened in the park: things
That never have to die
After they have run away: words drooled from
The lip,
As they drooled from the snail:
Lactated off of Colorado, and gone through her
Aspens and her key stones
After the lightning storms: they have followed
Me down,
And I have whistled to them through the darkness
And brought them into my truck to sleep-
Residing there gradually serenaded by the rushing
Fixtures in the subtle trees:
Each wind a blessing tearing off her clothes,
Scratching carvings into the sky
And caracoling the light form the heavens that I
Swear to god doesn’t even belong there
Anymore: while the creatures hibernate anyways,
Waiting until morning for all of the brilliant
Stores to open in a hexagonal flood.