The Darkness While The Stars Turned In Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I put you down like yellow ships into
Those prenatal waves,
As the long legged ivy smokes like lingerie
Along the house huddling like
A square cat up against the woods;
And I have watched you move away down stream
Like something hollow inside but beautifully
Made
While the rainstorms congratulated themselves down
The skirts of your mountains:
And you exercised your right to runaway without
Looking at me until the collectors came asking for you
Their mouths just as hungry as the sharpest cutlery
Of silver wolves;
All I could do was light a match for you and wait out
The darkness while the stars turned in insouciant jubilee
And the Lady turned up again in wonderful places,
Multiplying herself for the beautifully dunned proletariat
For many more centuries even further away.