The Rhythm of the Slate
The rhythm of the slate
My pregnant heart
Is about giving birth
From one to many
Till it tills on
And loses counts
My aqua-terrestrial wits
Formed from inner veins
Are set on plain
Polishing for tenants of the crust
Ears hear them all
Like hum of rockets
Eyes capture the requisite
Like lens of cameras
Then ripples fall
Vent vein to pen
And dine the pen
To the rhythm of the slate
In inscribing
What’s worthy
Of a name
In deep scouting
What will become
Like a feast
For petal-full land
I aren’t penning this
Within the bare hands
Of the sun and the moon
But pen I’m pinning
Believing I’ll pen
Other better pens
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