To The Heavens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Crepuscule in the mailboxes-
And another zoetrope returned to ash.
My favorite words lying with the rattlesnakes,
Like the bums beneath the overpass-
The crickets hungry in the yard- the lions open
Their mouths down the street-
The housewives disrobe to lie down somewhere
Else.
The clouds leave the hall- the blueness fades
Into stolen light-
The banks close, and the memories slip back
Through the cypress-
All the way to the crashes of airplanes that
Remain surviving-
And the little truancies that I took to think
Of your love;
And our little brown hand in mine, Alma-
How we breathe sometimes together- coins
Are tossed in a well,
Until you come home to work, and your children
Relish you-
I watch you across the train tracks, and all of the
Mothers coming home,
Until the movement of your body is blotted out,
As if offerings to the heavens.