April 3rd, Day Three

I sit on my side porch and watch the same scenery each day while I write. Guess that helps to get me in the zone. I am seeing the same things each time. Perhaps this is good?

Rhythm of This Day

days blend one to one
as notes on the diachronic scale
this one a bit higher
a sharp before the whole
or lower, flattening

the individual days
accept a new tempo
cymbal crash
orchestrating a turn
piccolo or bassoonish
twist

we are arms around each other
for a slow waltz
or kicking heels
in a country dance

impossible to tell
in the cool morning
what noon will bring

time, key signature
all at the behest
of some unconcerned
non-judgmental conductor
who flaps his arms
and lets me work out
the tune for myself