The earth is full of rhythms so precise the octave of the crystal can produce a trillion oscillations, yet not lose a second’s beat. The ear needs no device to hear the unsprung rhythms of the couch drown out the mouth’s; the lips can be debauched by kisses, should the heart put back its watch and find the pulse of love, and sing, devout.
If moons and tides in interlocking dance obey their numbers, what’s been left to chance? Should poets be more lax—their circumstance as humble as it is?—or readers wince to see their ragged numbers thin, to hear the moans of drones drown out the Chanticleer?
Published by Poetry Porch/Sonnet Scroll, The Eclectic Muse, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Famous Poets & Poems, Poetry Renewal Magazine, Mindful of Poetry, Sonnetto Poesia, Trinacria and Poetry Life & Times