Constant Velocity Joint

The graunching of shaft steel, the bone smashing force of terrible torsion
Scribes circles in your thin horizon, and blind you to the other geometries.
Circles never end. They are a force to be reckoned with.

You receive rotational input, and sire its perfect cedent
At a variant angle. This is the genius of your articulation.
The secret lies within your spheres, perfect seeds of so many circles
Which spin ecstatically up and down your grooves
And constantly cheat destruction with their infinite positionings.
Round the compass points the output shafts, and each degree
Is passed between with equal and consistent smooth velocity.
This is an icy perfect motion, and it terrifies me.

You are a silent working, a fundamental engine too right to be remembered,
Too perfect to demand of my maintaining hand. You turn silently
Like the seasons, and seem to bring my lesser forces into focus.
You solve a problem bigger than my brain, and humble me with
Comfort that I am not built to bear the forces you do.

Of course,
One day you will smash apart, and scream out the pent up kinetics of
20 years hard rotation. But that is the metal’s fault, not yours.