Lost Loves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fasions of playboys in their cemeteraries
And we all tried to start out from here in the plumping hills:
I seemed to call your wife to my neck,
But then it turned out what I was feeling wasn’t real,
But the cemetaries enveloped what it was
That we couldn’t stand—
And they seemed to envelop all of the beautiful loves
Lost and spilling from another land—
Until found out on the patio of a television theatre—
While the open throated frogs tried and seemed to weather—
Voices without joy and boys who seeemed to know how to steal penny
Candy to envelop their many- jubilant souls amidst the pentagrams
Of the highways of frozen and childish carracols
And misspellings—
But I loved you wrapped or inveloped in Christmas or Easter
And the playgrounds of the cenotaphs of the apple orchards
That couldn’t begin to bathe and pretend that it was all there
Was—
New worlds spoken for old amusements in the amphitheatres
That remain an incredible adventure—
Lost words lost and misspoken for lost—
Lost loves.