The Face Of The Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We were entering the fall-guy’s study and
It was an interesting thing, becoming a part of the show
(The sunlight fell upon us nice and slow)
As I looked up into her eyes, green bivouacs—
Dimpled shadows lingering in the carport besides
The rebar coalescing with the art of dusk:
Strange families who stop playing games—as it
Rains remembering us—
Illusions over her body like some ghost’s hands—
What will they say about her now that the
Rattlesnakes are coiled in the yard—This place
Is almost a trailer park—the things I remember
But no longer have caught together in a net
That also catches the face of the moon, the endless
Traffic passing by unstopping.