In The Silted Sheets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The stones of the sun are making love to
Cowboys,
The traffic is moving back and forth like an insecure
Christmas
That the stewardesses are showing legs above:
Each one of them like an incandescent bulb
In a Ferris Wheel that turns for Don Quixote
Right over the world,
As the mothers press their children into the cars,
And the nights come together against the naked backs of
Mountains,
Saying their lottery of prayers far across the shops
And brambles snuggled in the silted sheets of a higher and
More impenetrable world.