The Solar Year

There is a drift in
the turning of things-
orbits yaw, the parade
of Mars sometimes goes
awry. Not even the earth
is still- it moves, it moves!

There is a symmetry in
the rhythm of things. Things
once lost sometimes return,
sights once seen may sometimes
appear anew. They never die,
and ghosts are manifold, multitudinous.

The weary years revolve
for us, put on ceaseless display.
Boyhood reveals itself again in
every man, no woman is who
was not once a girl. Rings
are joined to rings and hung
about the neck for beauty.

There is a drift in the turning
of things, plans and planets yaw,
our parades of fancy always go
awry. Not even the earth is still-
he comes, he comes!