The Gift Of All Of This Sun Poem by Robert Rorabeck

High in those basins where I wished that we’d
Made love,
And while my dumb mother is brushing her teeth and getting
Ready to go to bed in a rainy trailer park,
I just think about your bush: How it can light up and speak to
Me from any part beside the road;
This is what it does while it bears children and chain smokes,
While it makes totem poles with the chain saws of your
Friction;
Don’t you understand now; under the dying light of these nine
Or so planets, I’ve chanted, I’ve climbed up and down for you,
While your children sang and then surrendered so that
They wouldn’t have to see the gun fight swung over the sweet
Monuments of your body;
And I’ve been up and down swinging in the Grand Canyon three
Times or so for you, chanting out the long answer, with my old
Girlfriend, the old bushwhacker with all of her stars and tin
Surrenders;
And now I am all alone and doing good and will have a house
All alone in an ancient neighborhood that I won’t have to hear the
Sound of your surrender in unless you really want me to;
For you are the lightning, and the recoil of gun:
You are all that I’ve really wanted, because you bare children under
The gift of all of this sun.