In The Greatest Opulence Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sweat of drills of bodies moving to and throwing,
Moving everywhere that bodies can think to go:
Like waves in the sea,
Like everything you could even think of:
Like kids on swings,
Or leaves coming unclothed, and the mountains sing
Their snows,
Doing everything that a body needs to know:
And maybe Marie ain’t no good:
Maybe she moved away before she should:
Maybe or any other goddess never thought to need to look
Into my eyes,
Maybe they never opened what I needed from them,
Like the amusement gates of opal thighs;
So I sing for them, just as homeless and mobile as a stone
Above tree line,
Weeping always weeping for all the lusciousness he can
See down beneath him,
But only speaking when there is a hell of a rainstorm,
When there is the greatest opulence that traffics in talky lightning.