HISTORY'S PALE
ACCOUNTING OF TIME
These marks on clay, those improvised wedges,
are they all that they say? I've seen readings of
nothing but accountings and lists and hoarded goods.
This ancient Man, of whom I speak, he took great
pains to dislodge any imprecision. How long was it,
I wonder, until he wrote a real fiction? In the first
ledger book (of clay), somewhere, there must be
the first ledger lie. A 'true' falsehood for the ages.
-
In the early afternoon, a high wind is rustling
the unsettled trees. Evergreen and sycamore,
one full, one still bare, wrestle with themselves.
The new Spring season calls them, yet they -
only reluctantly, it seems - now come forth
to play along. Birds, to witness, sing their song.
ACCOUNTING OF TIME
These marks on clay, those improvised wedges,
are they all that they say? I've seen readings of
nothing but accountings and lists and hoarded goods.
This ancient Man, of whom I speak, he took great
pains to dislodge any imprecision. How long was it,
I wonder, until he wrote a real fiction? In the first
ledger book (of clay), somewhere, there must be
the first ledger lie. A 'true' falsehood for the ages.
-
In the early afternoon, a high wind is rustling
the unsettled trees. Evergreen and sycamore,
one full, one still bare, wrestle with themselves.
The new Spring season calls them, yet they -
only reluctantly, it seems - now come forth
to play along. Birds, to witness, sing their song.
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