The Passions That I Have Had For Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Burning in the yellow love,
Caving in the houses about their bruised ribs:
O, I smack her eyes and jab
And here the things that I cannot give,
While she gets browner as she works, and her husband
Comes and lays down his ivory guns,
And asks her to forgive, standing beside her like
A crib:
And I guess she forgets or she remembers to forgive,
And they go out into the long and favorite estuaries of
The grass,
And fall together like timber in a hutch, like golden
Clouds touching the west as it goes to bed:
And she forgets the passions that I have had for her;
As Alma forgets all which I have said.