The Beauty Underneath The Shells Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bullies take their heavens in hand and
Turn them into wet clay,
Just as the cars roll over the road in the rain,
And the new and the stillborn puppies
Lay tattered near the drainage of blue moccasins,
While still some flowers off in the eaves
Overshadows by the carport try to glow;
And I think of her eyes: I think of my muse’s eyes
Far away, brown eyes across the train tracks,
Dusty angels in the burs- kicked into sand dollars
By sightless tourists:
The beauty underneath the shells, blanketed by waves
Who steal them away like effluvious thieves;
But I have seen them there, and called her name to
The rabble,
And the snakes came out of the sea and kissed my hand.