Sonnet #134

There is a song in the garden we do not hear

Of cells dividing and pollen landing like drums

Of the rustle of the weevil and the dew dropping tears

The drum and drum and rippling drum of all that becomes

The vibrations of the earth, the tiniest juggles 

Are moving, cells dividing, ripping through cells

And minute hungry creatures chew and struggle

The songbirds whose huge shouts echo like bells

The whistling wind cut to ribbons in the grass

The click of the anole scales and claws upon the stones

The weight of the sun, the weight of the rain, the frass

that tumbles from the dying squash vine's broken bones

There is a song we cannot hear -- We know there's music

Because we see the beauty of the dancing world majestic