Sestina: The Dashed Line (1/2)

From peak to lodge, too tightly stretched the cable;

It glinted in the dying light of fall-

Fresh sunset. The lone worker doused the light;

As stars appeared, wind moaned in its deep pitch,

With breath of ice. And in that lofty height,

The string of cars was stirred as if by thunder.

-

But then a flash, a hush--then, distant thunder

In bassy malice plectrum-plucked the cable.

The gondolas all shivered in the height,

And wondered which would be the first to fall.

It's premature, some thought. A fever pitch

Will make us nervous; smile! Let's keep it light.

-

And in response, another blast of light

Played herald to a closer roll of thunder.

The unkempt grass shook on the skiing pitch,

Anticipating winter. Then the cable,

Suspended there an age before this fall,

Did sigh in weariness, sore from the height

-

And cramped by weight and waiting; felt the height

Too much to bear. One weak strand hit the light,

And wondered what it might feel like to fall,

Its voices raised, a yell of blood and thunder.

...

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