I am the metronome
mover of measures
wide . . . . . . . . wide . . . . . . . . . . . . swings my pendulum
tracing the tempos of time

Tick-tock
my hands
a poco a presto
strum
staccato
the strings of my mind

I am the hollow
hourglass
Trickle my tunes
to the tilt of the times

The see-sawing sea
paces my sands—
murmurs ageless songs
in major
and minor

Sharp waves
crack my still mirror—
capture the startled sun
in splintered rays

I am the pulse of the wordless deep
Somehow
constant my cadence
Somehow
the play of my tides
echoes
the gravity of the moon