Moving circle of our matching time,

Even out our nights with days,

Shine the hours of the season’s climb

On the bed of our reclining rays,


The rings of morning on our souls, 

Semaphores that shoal across the eye,

Uniformly spaced around the poles

And prisms of the sky,


Shadowed with the planet’s motion,

Clocks of hands that show the time,

The latitudes of rolling ocean

Between ascension and decline,


Compasses that cannot be adjusted,

That judge our distances by sight,

Harmonies of watches rusted

By the stars in breaking light, -


Divide our hours with the blinds

Of noon on disintegrating places

And winters with the lines

Of our aligning faces:


Wind our summers with the sun,

With a hemisphere of equal style, - 

True North of age’s pendulum

And earth’s apparent human dial.