His Pitiless Caresses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Purple ribbon in colorless hair-
Lying in the bed where I placed you somewhere-
Gone over the roving combers,
Gone to play baseball and to make eyes with
Dynasties,
While the fireworks dying, hissing golden rods
Into the two for one sky,
Over the slopes of horses, their hoofs stamping
Arrowheads in the moonlight stolen
To belong there-
As you have lost yourself beyond the train tracks
Again,
And stolen into the slopes and raiment of
His pitiless caresses-
As a long ways off, the sky shutters-
And seems for an impossible while that it will
Never come down.