Two short lines, and a puzzle. Someone, "he," has a strange power: some cars sink while others rise. The poem never says who he is or where this happens, so a reader has to decide what to picture. Maybe a magician, maybe a god-like figure, maybe a driver or a mechanic. Or maybe it's something ordinary, like cars going down a hill and up another, seen from a distance.
That openness is the point. The speaker doesn't tell us how they feel, and the tone stays flat and matter-of-fact, as if this were a simple report. Yet the image itself is odd and a little dreamlike, so the plain voice and the impossible action pull against each other. The mood is quiet curiosity, with a hint of unease about who holds this kind of control.
The wording is also worth noticing. "Sink" and "rise" are opposites, and the line break between them lets the reader feel the drop and the lift. A tiny poem, it asks you to slow down and wonder.