The Emptying Highways Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sabbath is out in the open—
Sabbath looks like a tree:
And your mother and your father are
Having guests
Taking their flowers to the graves
And looking up:
Everyone speaking Spanish over
The fort or over the hallucinations
Of the trees:
They both belong together,
Flagella of their species—
Round a bouts of merry-go-rounds—
Children growing up in circles,
A bouquet of the dizzying roses:
And I don’t have to believe who they
Say they are:
In the morning, they will be just
Another hallucination
Like the fireworks who are gone
Saying their busier séances to
The emptying highways.