Tiny moving parts, A spirit of synchronicity That I had ruminated on: How it starts, And they stop Wrought of genius And simplicity The dawn and fall of humankind All seated on a wrist Swinging forward and behind In whose fate The hands so twist. Dusting charcoal from glitt’ring grin Mocking in a single prayer Each second, loud And growing gayer Penitence for that second’s sin For blank, so empty The vessel sat Covered, not covering, In the grayish-black Wasted time in unused power The watch but looks away Meager, sour Persistent still ‘Till wakened by the rested hour Where dawn illumes The hideous sight: a failure A void in Dis’ sweet hall God’s hand stained in graphite And no grace upon creation Did any of it fall.