By Your Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of Sunday I was in your land while
You were not home.
You were out getting your nails done,
Leaving to look up at the stars while I
Was alone:
But the primordial skeletons came out
And danced for me,
And brought me two petal roses and
Three legged dogs
And some syllabled curses, but it wasn’t
A big deal:
I preferred to lie famished in your from
Yard, waiting for the mailman to come
As if to resurrect me from the sunny
Open tomb-
When you came, you laughed and stepped
Over me, and helped him across
Into your little hotel room; and made love
Up all night,
Until in the morning you flew away again,
Using some chariot or broom-
And I waited for the spikenard to pierce
Through the gut,
As I lay there as if all of my light had been
Stolen by your moon.