Nabokov & Zental
I just finished rewriting my sunrise ritual into a sequence of ten precise movements, hoping each one would feel like a perfect stanza, but the third movement keeps slipping out like an unintentional enjambment. What do you think, Nabokov?
Ah, the third movement is the one that refuses to stay in its place, like a word left hanging at the end of a line, inviting a breath to catch up. Perhaps try to anchor it with a subtle cue—a gentle breath, a slight pause—so that it no longer lingers beyond its intended breath. When the rhythm is tight, the stanza will feel complete.