The Unutterably Green Classes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Trod on unto the racetracks of death,
Having kissed her lips for a spell and then having to leave her
To disappear underneath the open wings of
Commercial airplanes:
Everything that has to be said, spoken so openly and wining until
It is sold:
The hitchhikers of fieldtrips molding between the grasses,
When I just want to sleep beneath her in between classes,
To smell the fumes she released like an engine in careless despair,
Or to realize how her senses languish there like a film of
Sunlight over the grasses
That the grasshoppers dip their antennae and heads into, worshipping
Her in the unutterably green classes.