Arthur, a thought or tow

A poem in search of a title.

then night resumes. The glow of numbers  (cut then)
at my side, tells the long dark down to day. (no comma)

Fitful, I hear the soft insistence of my heart
and tides of breath beat out their span,(no comma)
per second, per second.

Its stone plinth, fast rooted,
gnomon aligned to the earth’s tilt,
the bronze dial turns towards the sun,
measures and enumerates its unclouded passage,
shadows the hours, the pulse of seasons- years.

It seems as if the title is in the S above.

The S below the weakest to me.  Does seem to fit.

Flies butt and buzz,
eyes flash, fail and dim,
birds flit, clouds drift, sands shift,
leaves flicker, grasses sway, seas lap
and rivers run under the apparent journeys of the sun.

I would cut to here;

A sere leaf taps my shoulder,
a bird-abandoned bough quivers,
Leaf- and petal-fall, moon in thrall,
the wind’s melody stroked from swung chimes,
all evaluate the same equations.

Thanks.

Gary


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