Through The Hours Behind The Day Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to be with you: I don’t want to lie alone
Anymore upon the grass,
Watching the little gems of grasshoppers and cicadas leave their
Old skins for the woods,
Watching to the way the southward angels fall, all hipped
From their class,
Like the failed sculptures of the students of blown glass:
Beautiful, if destroyed and falling that way, picking up speed
And being adulterous,
Coming to rest in the backyards of the missing philanthropists
Head first and during the hours of school;
I skip out to find you in the sunning weeds: I still want you for
A wife:
And I dream, and spell away naked and on my back,
Waiting for you to fall again through the hours behind the day.