From Their Lovely Game Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Every ornament in carport of the heavens, looking good
And flirting with the oceans that know
Our echoes- the push of our graveyards, and sometimes
How swing sets still leap over the culling of their
Mulling weddings:
It is there that their hearts drip, like irrigations for a vineyard
So far beneath the tufts of lilies,
Where alligators float like airplanes, and five year old
Princesses fly when they learn to swim,
As from the yard of a perfect white house they go down,
Causing stains and blood, and little chips in their once perfections
That will not go away;
But it only makes them more precious, as some lights go out
Absolutely far away- and I hurt myself again,
Kneeling in prayer through the dime sized caskets in the infinity
Sucreased from their lovely game.