Of All The Many Hills Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Knocking off underneath
An overpass, waiting for the petals of
Angels to fall in
Charity,
Waiting for the roses of bridges and
Whores-
While, above my head, I can hear the wild
Horses and the tourists,
As the sunlight falls down to the other side
Of the mall-
Where the housewives grease up,
And their children learn what to do:
But I don’t want to talk about those things-
I just want to lie here,
And keep the heartbeat of the sea
Against my head-
I just want to remember how beautiful
I remember you
Like the first day after kindergarten,
Or when we became lost in a pet
Cemetery,
The day the lions escaped from the zoo
And ate both of our hearts
The way ants eat watermelons at an abandoned
Picnic,
While fireworks expend their short lives
Into the sky, discovering something richer
Than all of this- something unexplainable,
As the windmills kiss across the necks and shoulders
Of all of the many hills.