Beneath The Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bountiful rainbows of blue glass going home,
Traveling with their rucksacks across the schools,
Saying their prayers otherwise:
Baseball diamonds silhouetted in the skies,
The Pegasus’s turning around,
Catching the wax from the sun that the light houses
Have been so studious for,
The waves pulverizing at their door; and my loves
Opened like letters before the sea,
Asking for love, but not asking me- They’re bottles
Like cradles whose joys I have drunken,
Who sunburn in the yoke beaten by airplanes,
As the yellow slants through the stalks of green cathedrals,
And the little boys come, calling a hullabaloo,
While you can be seen but never touched through the
Ethereal transoms of your bedroom,
Blushing and brown hooded like a cobra so deliberately
Charmed by another man,
That I can only use my rope tricks to go above your locked
Doors,
And there sleep like a mountainous cat above your bed,
Alma, and beneath the moon.