Underneath The Grounds Of Her Amusements Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I made love to your wife a thousand times underneath the
Moonlight while I was still awakening and then this
Job: half arisen into the seas of wherever—supposing you never
Collected yourselves—
Well, at least—It was perceived as another beautiful amusement—
Well, until the flowers happened,
Over spilling and over spilling—making new words for
The phantasms of the day cares and becoming recreational—
A day time of brilliancies into whichever way that she
Spilled- beauty piled atop of beauty—until night became another
Phantasm and was introduced into the playgrounds of
The architects—and then she had to rest forever,
After her first or second husband—
Brilliant as the last blooms of a daydream—a really beautiful
Creation regressed underneath the floorboards
As her mansions sped underneath the ground
And her amusements mattriculated themselves away and away.