In A Garden I Can No Longer Enjoy Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Brown bodies coming onto shore
Echoing with the horses in the well mowed Yard,
And falling in love with their cousins;
And they are here,
As the moon hovers like a zeppelin, and the
Graveyard waits open lipped for horses,
And you can feel each blade
Of grass and the ants’ sting- as the blue feathers
Fall down from the sky,
And the airplanes fly in their flight paths
Echoing-
The ways up the mountains are far from here,
And her bedroom is right over the train tracks:
She is in his arms
Folded like soft laundry, until her eyes close
And they go to sleep like serpents
In a garden I can no longer enjoy.