The Lowering Planes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It seems the penny ante accord of Indians all covered
From the brushes:
They have been combing their feathers preparing for
The ambushes—
And the city lights and the waves proceed—
The schoolmarms blush as they figure out how
Their children can succeed—
And in the waves, effervescent—and in the
Carnivals of other waves—
The glass-blown seahorses—and
The upset mermaids—
The times that they get lost from themselves—
And in their tumult of snow globes trying to
Pretend to be housewives—
It is a penny ante succession—
And in the daylight it is like a zoetrope’s procession—
And when it is gone, the wind hollows the weathervanes—
And when I think of you,
The mountains paint themselves like the severest majesty—
A royalty of shadows perpetuated upon
The lowering planes.