Yellow Words In The Scree Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I went up her again today, the beautiful easy mountain-
Old gal; I suppose you’d say I was yelling, walking silently
Through the comely changing aspens: that was what they were
Doing- drinking too much sun to sicken then to die:
That I was trying to show off with my dogs when there was
No one else in the world around;
And that’s why I write this poetry, you suppose:
Am I trying to give death a bad hand? Or, am I just trying to
Send you flowers without having to pay?
- I climbed Mount Elbert and Mount Massive in one day,
And I professed to having seen god, slipping down the slopes
Like yellow liquor, like an unidentified serpent,
Some entity not a single religion could either identity or
Dispel; and I wept- I wept and decided I loved my girl,
While she was making love to the anonymous Joe- I know:
And I went down with four grandmothers, and they were so proud
Of me, their little scarred Indian- but they didn’t stop to help me
Change a tire I had no spare for once they passed me coming into
Some tourist infested Colorado town: And I am not beautiful,
And that is why I do it: To become beautiful, to become right for
You, a suitor to your beauty; and you are being a vulgar paramour
To service any other gentleman than I- Because I have seen angels
Like baseball players- Even if it was only the minor leagues,
I beheld their sport like cryptic yellow roses, like hydras waving out
Of the crackling scree; and they whispered quite conspiratorially
That you should love me, love me, even you don’t know who
You are- Even if you don’t believe these words, and I am a lemon
Suited monster- Just love me, because I have done enough for
Your love.