Poem

The Tower of the Winds

I use Andronicus’ Tower of the Winds
to calculate an astronomical
time in the future
in the flow
of water and air,
through friction
and Coriolis force,
and the physical workings
of the known.

now we go
to listen to
the wind blow
to and fro

My wet finger forecasts
direction; the Triton
weathervane indicates clarity.
The eight deities:
from Boreas to Euros to Lips to Zephyros,
etch the face
of my purpose, belief
and Newton’s Second Law.

here we go
listening to
the winds blow
to and fro

Nine sundials mark the day
on the face
of the tower; inside Ctesibius’ water clock,
driven by water
from the Acropolis, it marks
the time and movements of matter
across the mythological figures
of the universe.

there we go
leaning into
the wind blow
to and fro

I am not influenced by the feel of wind,
I am not influenced by the reel of wind,
the nearly same pull back
and quiet
just before it smacks
you hard in the face, the chest.
Archimedes trusted the circles
of life;
yet this is personal:
the rub is real,
the force exists on our faces,
in our eyes,
in our tears, the salt drying
to a cake.

there we go
listening to
the wind blowing
to and fro

and the sulky shadow of the fire dances
with the yellowy-orange fire of our eyes
and lips that want to press upon the skin
of others more beautiful and sensual
than us
and the light breeze of the late Spring evening
in Hartford, Connecticut,
Florianopolis,
Dublin or Athens
caresses the gray of our hair, the lines
about our mouths, our eyes, and the gear
grind and mechanical squeal
of future events etched in the
markings of the sky,
time releases newer wrinkles
and newer despair
or our hearts in repair. Gear in gear
or hand in hand, wind presses my face
constantly in place, wind marks
my place with motion
and no trace

where we go
to listen to
the wind blowing
to and fro

like a wind from Djibouti
carrying poetic songs of the Somalis
and the Afar exposed to an arid land
and the winds
that carried them here and there
across an ancient world.