Erosion

Know no principle or silence—
every morning erosion robs you
of the first sun, acid light inlaid
in the metal of time—every morning
dogs hesitate, obscure Eros
before dust's speech, and bark, limpid, in the slow
economy of the clay, they bark, transfigure
the scale, the rigor of the tired
fountain—every morning a body
unfreezes and climbs undulating the rope
of muscles (minute instruments
of commerce)—every morning
a body among others spills upon other
sculptures of solitude—