Through The Grass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I cannot sleep: The day is mean against
My body:
I think of her, and the hours troop like snails:
Where are they going but to other
Grandmothers and grandfathers;
They are curling up the teak of her cherished
Heirlooms that are moving
Gallantly with her soft love: She is breathing his
Name into his imperfect ear,
And he is having her over and over while the
Seas make love
And the very young rattlesnakes go galloping
Through the grass.