The Tertiary Heartbeat

It doesn’t whump
Bump, whump bump. It
Doesn’t click, tick.

It’s not clockwork,
Not digital,
Not atomic.

It doesn’t spin.
It’s not music.
It’s not tactile,

It’s just tacit.
You can’t sense it.
It’s gravity—

Not the local
Variety,
Not Earth clutching

You in this rip
Tide you wade through,
But those long waves

You float that you
Don’t notice pull
As they pulse through.