Shadows & Dust [poetry]

The Rhythm Maker

Well the cat's at the fiddle

and I'm in the middle

of polishing a hardwood tune.

I'm tapping the floor

though it's a quarter to four,

tapping my feet and my

long wooden spoon.

In patterns rune-like the moon's

shadow-hewn light begs me

to sleep. From the sill, she

calls to me, hush now, hush and

be still. But I'm chasing the beat

between the earth and my feet

and I'll rap and I'll tap and I'll

ratta-tat-tat til the sun replaces

the moon, with the cat and the

fiddle I'll unriddle this riddle,

with the beat of my feet

and my long wooden spoon.