It is the prime captivation of sensations
The laissez faire of emotions
It is the breadth of physical pride
And the language of soles of feet.
It is an allusion to Shakespearean feasts
The fair repercussion to the strings of the harp
It is the sway of the head to the sound of the trumpet
And perhaps the trumpet itself.
It is as diaphanous as the autumn breeze
The lone-heard heartbeat in utter quiet
It is the sudden volcanic eruption
And the kind of earthquake we pray for