Broken Rhythm Poem by Francis Santaquilani
Broken Rhythm
A fat crow drops onto
The very tip of the top
Branch of a barren tree.
It sways with the branch
As if riding the hand
Of a metronome.
We're swept up in
The rhythm, the crow
The tree and me.
Then a hard gust
From the east
Or west and
The tree becomes a bull,
The crow a bullrider and
I'm on the edge of my seat
Waiting for something bad
To happen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 2:57:59 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
Wonderful image and humor in this. Always something unique when I revisit your pages. -chuck