The Riddle of Two Other Things

-what goes on in their heads bleaches hearts into stone, Darla Whitehead in Precious Memories

Take this time of ours until
tomorrow, towards the sun
with that shadow of yours
that in the morning runs
towards the next morn.
What a noisy comet it is!
all of that finery
on her golden arms
to drag phantoms
behind without as much
as a bone to whisper into,
without their hearts to grieve.

The moon swears sweetly to Allah:

I am not your walking clock
or Qibla, there is no water
between my passes
and these rivers choke
on old, charry resin
midst wee jagged rocks,
all of it still there
stiff and familiar,
each piece and drawn-down atom.
The last day remembers
the depth of the first
newborn road,
its very first turn
was patient
between two other things.
In hot pursuit, the spies
arrived lighthearted and missed
the blowing and the rain,
returned from whence they came.