Pantomimes Of The Storms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You need to come home to me from the
Offensive legions:
Because this dusk has no eyes, and no
Juliet—
The airplanes cannot see by this, words
Underneath an overpass—
The cars pass seemingly like roses collecting
To the sea—
Each one being thrown away into
The grief of those caesuras—like feral
Bosom s rising from the old phantoms—
Pantomimes of the storms
Trying to catch up to her, their hearts in
A lonely place trying to leap to breathe
From the city beneath the sea
Beneath all of us.