Of Brand New Spells Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can hear airplanes and misfits too, and the world
Feels good as it works up its hullabaloo:
The world marching through the pinwheels and wind tunnels
To Christmas:
The world tying its bows,
And laying its brown skin through the embers:
The young lovers who touch each other and have no more
Troubles after the darkness,
Their children picked up from the swings of daycare and cared for,
And dinner cooked,
And the voices spread on the sweet television,
While the cool waves bask like sated dogs far beneath the bellies
Of the airplanes who seem to be leaping like hot tempered saints:
And now this,
And now that- the rattlesnakes who lie low grandfather,
The holly bows that switch the donkey’s back,
And maybe even now a new god is being born in the terminal’s
Lavatory;
And right now I am feeling warm, and the serpents curl like a new
Mother who takes, me down with her enchanting eyes into the cauldrons
Of brand new spells.