With Ant Hills And Que Seras Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Down in the lime-green valleys
With ant-hills and que seras,
With those beautiful instructors paid to mend,
Paid to say almost anything;
And they are looking me in the eyes- Oh lord,
The joy of the blowing grasses on
The indestructible prairie, like the joy of
Unmolested skin running around on those courts-
I’d giving anything just to sit down and have
My lunch under those eyes,
Unemployed so that my being might stem anywhere,
Go in any direction following the dusk
And the more languid ambiances glowing outdoors
From so many windows,
And the smiling housewives beneath, being shut in,
Like folded up angels:
This is a park where I can sing and drive,
And run my fingers through the air and see how so like
Truthful fabric is this humid breeze, and all the herons
Are quiet and well-migrated, and all the furniture moved;
And her eyes Are settling down,
And she is being placed vertical in that bed like a prize,
After they’ve stomped the ritualistic crystal,
After they’ve touched brows and lips, like much
Enamored cousins who upon holiday drive through the
Countryside, crossbreeding with the vibrating stamens,
Drinking porously the same affluence, groping until dusk,
And saying to each other the names of expensive flowers,
And the seahorses that come from Europe
Or another world.