As by the grace of a lifetime’s narrowed sight
Perseus knelt upon the blooming sphere
with the regularity of urbanity’s fuzzy light
unbroken by the drum of earthly years
He froze the night by medusa’s head
that the meteoric arrow rain
might stand upon its mirror’s bed
mutely dancing through its clouded grain—
Rising, ever rising, amidst its dying garden
a thousand years to whither, but never yet the mystery
of what should grant his writers’ pardon
for a thousand years of repetitious history.