Roses At The Summit Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If you awaken in the petrified midnight of your
Trailer park-
Thinking of me- remember, I am your man,
Even though your trucks
Are stolen,
And the sky is empty: the heavens have burned out,
And it is the lights of a graveyard you
See,
And even though they will not believe you
Anyways- it is just our
Bodies dying,
But our souls stay in the horns of preternatural
Stags all winter long-
Keeping the way for the fables of our children
So they will not go astray-
And even though I know so few words,
I use them all to pray for you
Amidst the mountains
Where the last of the Indians were captured,
And I had to sell myself for a glass of water-
As I watched him giving you
Roses at the summit: he might have been a god,
But he was still rude,
And I loved you- and the lightning showed
How I felt throughout all of the afternoons
While I waited for you alone.