The Stolen Sunlight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Back home again in between the shallowest for-get-me-
Knots—My girlfriend doesn't call—
It is only a recording—Doesn't she know who she loves,
While the same shadows beckon back and
Forth to the children—
What causes these haunted estuaries where only
The planes and the satellites are the eternal
Spectators, blooming from the gravitations of
Their runways—
With imperfect wings and bodies—
As some snake of fables sleeps forgotten more golden
Than the stolen sunlight of the moon
Bedded in the sweet, sweet grass.