Most Beautiful Of Things Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cracks in the unobserving face of a geode
Who knows what lies beneath:
The special indulgences of Christmas and on her
Birthdays,
With the satellites milking down, more or
Less;
And then the pittance of age old relatives commuting
Across the highways and the lawns,
While my own body burns with yours,
While kittens get stuck with the insects high up in
The trees,
And there is no hope for them because all of the
Firemen are all off;
And the forests sit forever, leafless, and still yet
Like bouquets of silver,
In the comely saddles of the mountains where
Some politicians I don’t know re-released the bobcats
And the wolves,
Or the mountains themselves just as you were
Crossing over from Mexico yourself, Alma: an endangered
Species yet spaciously populous
Come to clean our houses and tidy our lawns,
While the meteorites made room for birthdays,
Sweeping clean a bedroom for a place to lie you beside my
Soul that I now find was always waiting
For just this rightly illegal and most beautiful of things.