The Nocturnal Curtain Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I am here—where are you—slow shoulders
In my space
While the lawn is growing, and I am exhumed
Twilight: twilight,
The dresses of the housewives are changing—
Their bread is done baking—
They have dawned their diamonds, their silhouettes
Reflected in the pools seem too
Of muses,
As we travel across the yards, their greens dimming
In the ballrooms of crepuscule,
As all of the characters are figured out
And the nocturnal curtain descends.