The world courses on
arhythmic heartbeats, now too fast, now too slow--
vulture-winged clouds swoop, then fly, circling
just beyond range. No storm tonight.
But soon. Earth pulses, resetting tides rise and fall,
each wave similar, each unique, vanishing in a tumbling froth,
kissing the sand.
Astronomers say the moon wobbles,
and I watch her, waiting for the hiccup
in her song. But she gazes at me,
silver and serene,
with merely a slight tremolo in her hum.