The Hill For The Travelers Passing By Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Watching birds outside of lunch flying like snowflakes
Of sunlight whispering for other planets
Until the night is cooled into metamorphosis—
And the moon comes and shines
And shines—its stolen lights over the shadows
Walking their dogs—
As time is telling tricks to the echoes of Neanderthals—
Back in their classrooms, teachers aghast with
Plagiarism,
But in the morning over the deserts of New Mexico—
The sky as bright as gypsum with hot air balloons
And hapless voyagers who can see all of the way
Into Mexico where the strange sisters lie
Singing as they are taking the corn down—
And the Virgin of Guadalupe shines like a lighthouse upon
The hill for the travelers passing by.