Bottom Rim

another poem in ballad stanza

A drunkard’s guzzled several days,

And staggering outside,

Dull and disoriented, seeks,

But cannot find, a guide.

The hour proclaimed is even six,

Twice daily otium.

The arrow hangs at bottom rim

Like a dead pendulum.

The birth and dying of the light

Are symmetry in dim.

The day is leaching into night,

Or morning’s failing him.