The Sundial
The Sundial
The clouds break
The sundial
A man made out
Of a piece of oak
That wouldn’t split
Even when he imagined that
It was Dick Cheney’s head
When the clouds break
The shadow
The gnomon casts
Will fall across
The marks
The ax made
And the rings that are
Entire years
Our ancestors
Lived through
And we would have too
Had we had to