Release with me the time of day
from its responsibility,
leave high planetary matters
to follow themselves their various paths.
Lose with me the measurement of hours
to reclaim the evidence of common sight.
Our passionate moon no longer hears
from us the ancient ritual–
arithmetic has taken from
her easy circle the mystery
that once confounded men,
they who met in credulous tribes.
Our fathers, who called the sun
greater than God, the constant sun
whose movement wound
the world’s timepiece,
have lost the words to justify
its heavenly course, lost
the language to understand,
who rises, who sets? Name the god
who easily makes this miracle,
for new names old gods now require–
the god of air who lifts the dome
of stars, the sun god who sails
by day across the sky,
by night through dense waters
beneath the earth to arrive
again and rise for our delight.