Numeral round to numeral round-
&-round our sundial ants tug time.
Tiny harnesses of light. At night
at various variances the stars
& moon hitch up the Four
Snails of the Apocalypse, but you–
for you, little jockey, I slide up & buckle
the two purple stirrups you’ll perch
to break the gate & hurl out fluttering silks
(o my favorite!) onto urgency’s
whipping track: already latterdays’ lost
tuck the far turn in a shuffle of dust
Martha Zweig, Hardwick
This poem was written for the Verse-Village celebration of April Poetry Month.
