We then suspend all our disbelief willingly.
We believe in iterations of sound and quiet
By blank verse’s broken iambs and rhymes.
Our rhymes coincide with ancient mariner
With all his legends of nature in our bodies
While emotion is recollected in tranquility.
Frost lacework is hoary repetition in mind
We suspend our disbelief enough to create.
On a hot summer night we re-live legends.
(Remembering Coleridge’s poem “Frost at Midnight”