This Most Unanswerable Of Poetry Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bags of gold fish breathing hard
Over my shoulder as a won gift, as
Required- and the moonlight dull, but in
Charge,
And your sisters around you in the moonlight
As sea level,
Telling nothing of the busses turning around,
Or the lions
In their perpetual moaning: soon I will
Be but grafted into
Your memory- all of my skills bereft like
Open wishes emolliated into the burning kiln
Of sea:
That I loved you and became your artist:
Un willfully, so too you became my muse, before
I must have ventured again- tramping
Turpentine- or at least the uneasy memory
Gathered with the syrups of her- and coagulated
Into your valley until it became so saturnine-
That I had to leave from there again,
Just to climb up another little ways- while
You lay basking in the architectures of your name
To which I had given you incisively from my unskillful
Attempts at this most unanswerable of poetry.