Ganymede's Earful

Day Fourteen

From a distance, particles of rock

on crystal, tinkle-tapping

the shiinto space

like shingly signals.

Whispering. Orbiting.

Swing-harmonizing. Listen;

The bellow-swell of gravity

is churning, drawing swirls in

crème caramel, curdling the

pop-pop-pop of hydrogen and

bow-bent squeal of helium, a

leviathan revolving with a

deep shudder, rumbling the

vibrato fibre of your body.

O, Ganymede, you're listening

to bone-knotting,

magnetospheric roaring.

The sonorous cacophony

of Jupiter's eye upon you.