Over Poem by Robert Rorabeck

These women in my castles making bones
And over her, gentle suicide in the garden:
Sea anemones in the sky,
Evaporations,
Things to tell the king and princesses,
Weather vanes blowing their challises towards the
Airplanes,
As summer continues floating as she does,
Palatial—sumptuous cathedrals in her arcs—
And the day is long and filled with daisies
And even longer—
The bulls pull the grasses, while laughs
Until it is over—and then she laughs
On her birthday in the graveyards—
And the sun waits until it passes,
And then shines: yes, shines all over.