A hidden rhythm

There is a hidden rhythm

In an hour like this,

When eyes meet eyes

Across a deep abyss,

When lips tear words

Like petals from a flower

To let them fall

In quick staccato shower.

Our shadows blend and part,

The wall is bright again;

The tapping of your fingers

Is the dripping of the rain;

The fire leaps high

And sinks into itself;

Of the iones on the chel.

And the hour is done,

You mustre the rhythm

On a whispered, “Stay!”

A Hidden Rhythm

Eda Lou Walton