The Voice of Quiet
Chisos Mountains, the Big Bend

To the peaks of savage land, the voice of quiet
rises.  Soft and lingering as aftertaste, it
calls us from the mountaintops.  We hear its riot

lightly, unfolding in the soundless sunrise, high yet
near to us.  Ascending from where night embraced it
to the peaks of savage land, the voice of quiet

wakens on splinterings of light, bit by bit
illuminating all.  Innocent and chaste, it
calls us from the mountaintops.  We hear its riot

in the calm, the virgin swirl, the slurry sigh.  It
dares us to aspire, to go where dawn has laced it
to the peaks of savage land.  The voice of quiet

nourishes with morning-song, a crooning diet
nursing flaccid ears grown dull on urban haste.  It
calls us from the mountaintops, we hear its riot

deeply.  Listen and you'll understand it, why it
penetrates us, why it pulls us, why we raced it
to the peaks of savage land.  The voice of quiet
calls us.  From the mountaintops, we hear its riot.

Jim Gramann's Questions:

1.  In this villanelle, I'm trying to achieve a reflective mood within a tight, song-like form.  Does it work?

2.  Does the trochaic meter (with lines ending in lightly stressed syllables) appear odd when read visually?

3.  Does the quiet-riot juxtaposition work as an image?

4.  Do the visual and acoustical images come across effectively, or does including them both clutter the poem?