Whose Song I Could Never Own Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When your body gets home, it makes love:
The fish are in the sea, the turtles dream of doves:
And I have slept on the roof of your house
In the penumbras of the airplanes that were waking up
And taking breakfast:
And it seemed to me as if I had found, the temple of
Love rising up from the grounds
Of an illegal suburbia so overgrown:
And you were the goddess whose song I could sing,
But whose song I could never own.