the second hand

im a traveller of minutiae
not of meridians or
of the sun crossing the hemispheres
in great swathes of light
but of things that are illuminated
just for a moment and retreat
again into darkness,
quiet, silent, unknown
im the hollow echo of the night
of the unmoving stillness of trees
and the lakes and buildings
in the lonely sigh of twilight
im the measure of passing time
in my bones have civilizations aged
in my dust are empires disappeared
and i move neither forward
nor backward but
between the two
ends of life
i am a boat unfastened
a thought untethered
not for me the journey
from untruth to truth
from death to life
and from light to darkness
but to let all and everything
pass through me
as i spin, spin wildly
round one small axis
east to west