The Airplanes Are Touching Down Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Turned out, burning through the
Elephantine joy: on another plain, stuck between
Where the airplanes fly:
And all of the windows looking out into the world,
Looking across the canals that the little
Girls skip to see the comets,
Or to ring in the new year: words on a patio with
Green things all around.
The night is an orchestra. The fruits globe
Her ankles perfumed in jasmine and rich geraniums-
They seem to be whispering,
And foxes:
And the airplanes are touching down.