Brown Bag Of Reasons Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Night fills up the yards: all of the yards, bottled into
Their uncertainty:
The penchant for fretfulness, which the airplanes try their luck
At escaping:
All the words made for abuses, starting the fires, or the first
Words in the throat of an abandoning letter:
The lions separated like two dogs done with a fight,
Halfway way eaten
And whispering with the foxes under the grapes:
The new lines that start like waves then and carry out towards
Their haunts of those destinations,
Like manless ships going out across the night, the fertile orchards
Laying in their séances of ghosts,
The universities attended by the shadows,
And then the rumors of tears, cousins to the rain, which makes
The world fattened, fertile,
And gives her a brown bag of reasons to come and season again.