Like A Sky Full Of Airplanes Coming Down Poem by Robert Rorabeck

With the stillness back in the shadows,
I struck out;
And something is ululation, and it is not
Looking good:
And things, big horrid domineering things
Are growing,
But they are not corsages or bouquets;
And this is the way it must look to anyone alone
In the middle of the sea,
Without the shadows, and only sun: then beauty
Becomes it own shadow,
And, circling, she comes:
And you can’t breathe once you discovered the
Treasures,
And the body is broken down, and the soul is
Just a salty mobile,
Going around and around an empty cradle,
Like a sky full of airplanes coming down.