Where do cable cars go at night,

When they take the day’s final wander

Down the timeless mountainside,

Against Sunday’s setting sun?

–

Do they cling to the swaying wire,

After they take the loop’s final turn,

And rock, soundlessly, above the trees,

Until some power remembers them?

–

Or are they slowly rounded up—

Put to rest inside their hidden pen—

As they dream their sweet, cable bound dreams,

To reach the mountain top again?