Three Verses On Rhythm

Did witches meet a summer night for rhythmic chants and easy rest and were they at their very best envisioning the sight? A wanderer in a foreign land, weakly natal, blinding sand and salty kicks while in the spell and dreamy drifts between the swells. Then mingling love and lust with dew, a prayer, a chant, a fork of yew, begat a creature wholly new. On summer nights the coven meets, a cauldron for a sea, to make a potion somnolescent and rock you in the moon's new crescent. I looked into the sky a summer Sunday afternoon and breathed the air and thought I saw the rhythm of a wave. The gray solitude of spring overtakes me as a storm washes out slowly, intensities of hue. I do not know the truth, the lie, immensities forsake me. Youth is wise to ponder, not too long, the meaning of a rhythm, the nuance of a song.