Horse latitudes, Mason Dixon. Tropic
of Cancer, Antarctic Circle, Greenwich, Equator,

the meridian that swallows a whole day.
Once I stood on such a line of time in the town

of College Corner, Indiana. Crossing to the other
side of the street, I lost an hour that stepping

back restored. I thought of all the hours lost
by the one who sleeps too much, the one

who searches for something misplaced,
the one who waits at the bedside of the dying.

Hours mass like crows in the fields.
One hour of need, the hour of glory,

rush hour, our finest hour, hour by hour,
keeping early hours, our final hour,

the hour has come, man of the hour,
zero hour, in the wee hours, canonical hours,

now is the hour, eleventh hour, after hours,
now and at the hour of our death amen.