The minute hand of my watch
Crossing the hour bows its head
In prayer, all the way to deep
Meditation at the meridian,
Headfirst into the abyss of six.
Almost without noticing
Its movement becomes
A rising up, to alleluia at eleven
And the full sundial glory of noon.
But the humble hour hand shadows
Everything, conserving every revolution
In its lower slower sweep, until
All time is gathered into love.
The second prays incessantly, up,
Down, it makes no difference,
The heart-attack tempo of our days
Ticking toward its truth