So it once was:

Time measured as

Threads, the fineness

Of moments suspended

In dust and rivers.

Rising smoke still

Clocks seasons and

Meals alike, all

Separated by the

Work of fragility.
 
 

Nothing measures

Civilization's descent

To rubble

Better than

The garden walls

Where Ghurkas and

Beggars will

Let one rest

If only shown

A poem.