Into The Aspects Of A Broken Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When the horses gallop through the pine trees,
Their heels click against the apoplectic
Rattles of snakes
Balled up in a boreal movie theatre:
But it is just a trick, and now they are not even
There:
Underneath the pitchfork pines where my parents
Once sold produced picked from Bell Glade—
There is now only a strip mall
And a massage parlor—
A fast food joint: what happened before
Was just a trick of the light:
My childhood looking up through the bower,
Flea-bitten, long snouted dog whining beside me—
And the speckled light of what could have been an
Audience of guardian angels
Waiting for the curtains to travel west—and again
Into the aspects of a broken sea.