In Their Regalia’s Crenulations Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Time crawls at a steady pace- snails over
The backs of terrapin-
Foxes laying in the grass, tasting grapes:
We watch the race horses,
And talk about busted uncles, as the mountain
Wears the fire like a necklace-
The planes, like angels dance, and the traffic turns around
Underneath her,
Lost in the prefabrications of the city. Where is
All of this going,
I wonder, as she slips away with him, back to
Her marriage underneath the bridge-
The great bodies of water trying to reach up towards
Her, slowly breathing in their regalia’s crenulations;
And I sit and weep
Even after all of the beautiful tourists have somehow
Swam away.