To The Comets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sand dollar covering an areola or
Covering up bad art-
Where the horses stumble along the shore-
Wounded after high school with
Blue cats riding them, and lightning in a jumble
In a basket in the sky:
Everyday, writing some things that will never
Survive next to the Ozarks in the park-
As new countries develop and then drift into the ocean:
And words surround her and make love to her
In bed, even though I am far away-
And the dinosaurs are gone- streamline and semi aquatic:
They raised their heads to the comets and
Thought nothing- and now not a single one of them
Exists-
As you lay across his brown belly trying to forget what you
Must have thought of us.