Birdsong erupts as the perfume of dawn

A few bundled people stroll slowly across the square

The suction of tires traversing the cobblestones

Across Konigstrasse,

A coffee cup now is a measure of time

As eyelid and cheekbone tick as the morning dries

The ragslop of sleep in the slippery day.

Smoke webs suspend over heavy dark tomes

Cascades of knocking heard tumbling down the halls

Time isn't managed by watches, but men are--

Our words and our shadow plays.

A cigarette now is a measure of time

The time to search faces for pursing and smiles

What she said; what he heard; what I'll say.

I imagine this room as inside a camera...

Through that wooden frame the past is projected,

In that wooden form is the present reflected,

On that wooden surface an image is burned

An exposure of five hundred years.

Church bell cacophonies circle the town

More drunks than parishioners lull on the public bench.

As bleeding Christs witness this grainy exposure,

I cased these buildings,

My wineglass now is a measure of time

That I try to prolong with a last conversation

Roiling inside with the presence of centuries

Lit by street corner light, in this darkroom of day.