Apiary I Can Never Have Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Unicorns under her feet and this is how
It plays out in the penny ante labyrinths that she fears:
The trucks build their shoulders
As her children grow up numbered to the nameless heavens—
While I have thought of her to the ghostly playgrounds
Underneath the overpasses as to all of the heavens—
She goes to her carnivals once a year,
But she becomes less and less amused, eating grasshoppers
When she cans—and filling up the lapses in her
Amusements with the echoes of my barks—
Who was once a pretty muse in the amusements of my
Disenchanted biceps—where is she going now—
Reciprocating once again with the clouded hemispheres—
Her amber skin as rich as an orchard at the moment of
Closing time—And nothing else is real—
The sun returns to the earth as I remember my grave—
Maybe now she will lay beside him forever echoing—
The carnival filled with the overabundant sweets lactating from
An apiary I can never have.