The Unreconciled Graves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lighthouses of transom monoliths,
I just want to undo her bra
And walk down this way through her easy mazes
Where the salt water licks into finer things
Are resolved
And to the end, like into a holiday,
Where, equally forgiven, there is nothing left to prove;
And the skylight is a ghetto over against the old
Queue;
And Ferris Wheel waking up and yawning like a swan
Diademed in pubescent light,
Who kisses against the neck of your sky just
As gently as a kite who really does want to get away,
Returning to the ranges of your bosom where it slips into the
Wet branches that spindle across the unreconciled graves.