The vernal equinox again. 

Not so vernal, this time, 

As eternal. Not so equal, either,

As just another wintry sequel. 

The divided sky, cut in half by sun and ice, 

Riffles through the branches twice, 

As the rime of history dies

And the summer slowly multiplies:

Woolly clouds resemble glaciers,

Undermined by warmer natures -

Time is cold and close today,

A solar cloisonné.


We are the hours we replace,

Not clock innards, but their face,

And the planet’s penduluming trips

Are more about its balanced drips:

The gist of the galactic chase

Leaps in us through empty space:

Not from any godly knack,

But from creation’s partial lack -

Not from the worlds growing here,

But because they disappear,

As far as I can see,

Springs the night’s equality.


April 1st, 1995

Tippet Alley

September 19th, 2004; May 24th, 2005

Rue de Varenne